


You and Your Twisted Desire

by Jdragon122



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Apocolypse World, Dark, Dean Winchester Whump, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Rape, Redemption, SPN Dark Fic Big Bang 2019, Sad with a Happy Ending, Season 13 episode 22, Season/Series 13, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Tortured Dean Winchester, semi-happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-23 21:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jdragon122/pseuds/Jdragon122
Summary: (Setting: 13x22 “Exodus”) Dean Winchester tags along with Charlie and Ketch on their rescue mission. They’re ambushed and captured, taken to an unknown location for interrogation. There Dean comes face to face with the dark, apocalypse world’s Castiel, a twisted version of his angel friend who tortures him for information. But this Castiel is more than just an evil sidekick. Dean finds there is more to him than meets the eye. As the angel grows more and more curious about him and his relationship with his Castiel, his dark, twisted desire for love and companionship is forced upon Dean. He must find a way to escape this dark romance but to do so he must learn about this Cas and his murky past, all the while struggling with his own feelings for his angel back home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Woooo! My first dark fic! It's been a while since I'd written a fic for a challenge but it was awesome to try it again :D Thank you to both of the lovely mods of this challenge (who I've both worked with and love immensely) for dragging me into this! It was fun to play around with the character of AU!Cas and how a relationship between him and Dean would work. I also have to give a special thank you to [Mal-senpai](https://malmuses.tumblr.com/) :3 who was kind enough to beta my fic!! thank you dear <3
> 
> And of course I must thank the wonderful [Fallenangelcas98](https://cool-fallen-angel.tumblr.com) <3 She was amazing to work with and I'm so glad to be partnered with her for her first ever challenge!! XD We had a lot of fun and she spoiled me rotten with all the art she made *drools*  
Seriously guys, she made 5 pieces! 5!!! Go show her some love over on her [art post](https://cool-fallen-angel.tumblr.com/post/187535829157/spn-dark-fic-bang) :)  
And if you want to reblog the full masterpiece it'll be over here --> [;)](https://jdragon122.tumblr.com/)  
Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the fic!

Cold.

That’s the first thing Dean registers. Icy metal at his back, his wrists, his ankles. He shivers as an unknown breeze wafts over him. His body is sore, harsh bruises already beginning to form, and a pounding in his head makes all of his senses unbearable.

Testing his breath, Dean takes in several steady streams of air, wincing when pain spikes in his ribs. The atmosphere is damp, thick and musky. There is a tang to it, one Dean hates to recognize but knows all too well.

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes. An annoyed sound escapes his lips, a light far too bright and obnoxious piercing his retinas. He blinks the world into focus, turning his attention to his now illuminated surroundings.

There are two boarded windows letting in the aggravating glow. They reveal a room just as grungey as he expected. Several not-so-well-hidden stains litter the floor which is already covered in dirt, dust, and chips of broken things. A door sits to his left and a hall leading to god knows where. It looks to have been a house at some point but it had long been abandoned and undoubtedly weathered in the following apocalypse.

How had he gotten here? And where were Ketch and Charlie? He’d been with them, they were out on a rescue mission—

“Dean?” A soft voice behind him answers his question.

“Charlie?” He cranes his head, only able to catch a glimpse of her red hair. “Ketch?” Dean calls.

“Present and mildly uncomfortable,” an ever-sarcastic voice replies. Dean huffs, amused and glad to know they were all relatively well.

“What happened?” There’s a hesitant pause.

“They knew we were coming, the angels.” Charlie wheezes, her breathing slightly irregular but steady. “They knocked you out first, knew you’d put up most of a fight.”

“How’s that possible?” Dean frowned.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ketch doesn’t sound too good himself. “Someone warned them we were coming. One of our own, that’s the only way this could’ve happened.”

“Well, we’ll figure it out after we’re out of here alright.” Dean grits his teeth and strains against the chains around his wrists. Twisting his head, he sees that the metal links are bound to a large support beam behind him, keeping him in place. He flexes his arms again. The chains don't budge an inch. Dean sighs and rests his head back on the chair. “Do we have any idea where we are?”

“Not a clue.”

“Awesome.” They all go quiet, each undoubtedly trying to come up with a plan just as Dean is. None of the angels had returned yet, which, whether that’s good or bad, Dean doesn’t know—but there would be no way of telling their location unless they pried it from their captors, if or when they came back. Dean doesn’t want to wait for that to happen.

He scans the floor, searching for so much as a broken wire to potentially pick the lock holding his chains—not that he could reach anything at the moment. Even his legs are bound, the most he can do is wiggle. He can only assume the others are the same.

Peering through the wood of the windows, Dean can see nothing but thick trees which further confirms their isolation. The light outside is obscured by a thick fog, making it hard to judge the sun’s position. But given the harsh highlights glaring down from above, Dean’s best guess is it’s about noon. If they’d only been captured this morning, there’s no way anyone would suspect their mission had gone awry. There is nothing they can do but wait.

A steady drip of water from somewhere in the room echoes around them as they sit, unable to act. It adds to the discomforting silence. They sit and listen, knowing no one would come and watch as the light fades and night begins to fall.

_________________

Several hours go by, Dean on the edge of sleep before the door finally opens. He shoots upright, blinking himself awake and donning his stone facade. Two angels walk in, meat suits dressed in military attire, too clean for the building they obviously despise.

All eyes are on them as they enter the room, leisurely strolling until they stop in front of the trio. They stand silent, observing their captives.

Dean is almost relieved, maybe they can finally get some info and stop waiting around. “So what do the oversized chickens want this time?” 

The angels both glare at him. They seem to debate responding, looking to each other before nodding. One of them steps forward, dark eyes smug. He leans down into Dean's face. 

Dean smirks at him. “What’s the matter? I got something on my—“

A hand slaps him across the face before he can finish.

“You shut up, you little imp. I don’t have to tell you shit.”

Dean chuckles, something he knows will annoy this simple foot soldier. “But you will because…” he teases.

The angel sniffs. “Because when your mind is in shambles and you're a blabbering mess on the floor—I’ll be here to say I told you so.” He smiles, a knowing gleam in his eye. “We’re bringing in an expert to deal with you. We know who you are. We know that the information you carry could win us the war. We want your knowledge—and we’re gonna take it from you.”

Dean snorts, “Good luck with that.”

The angel leans closer. “Oh, we don’t need luck.”

The shutting of a car door grabs the angels’ attention.

“Sariel,” the other angel warns.

Sariel looks Dean in the eye, smirking one last time before returning to his companion’s side.

Footsteps echo from outside. They grow closer and closer until they’re right by the door. Dean sees the shadow of the figure’s feet, shuffling their way closer. The door handle turns and the door is pushed open. A man dressed in black walks through and Dean freezes.

“Welcome Castiel, everything is ready for you.”

A long black coat sweeps the floor as Castiel strides into the room. He nods at the angels, paying them little attention. Black boots and gloves accompany his military suit, hidden beneath the wrong-colored trench coat. His eyes are both familiar and not. A cold, unnerving intensity sits behind them, icy and jarringly different from the warmth Dean knows. His hair is matted back, making him look like the most cliche Bond villain Dean’s ever seen.

Dean stares, eyes fixed and heart in his throat as this Castiel stops in front of him. The air is tense, not even the other angels dare to breathe. Dean notices the way they bow their heads, a submissive gesture. They fear him.

Castiel lets out a sigh, tilting his head to stare down at his prisoners, eyes roving until they stop on Dean. They burn through him, freezing his heart and chilling his spine. Dean can taste the thick darkness around the angel, reaching for him, crowding him from all sides.

Castiel narrows his eyes, stepping forward to suddenly grab Dean’s face. Dean gasps as the cold leather glove grips his chin. Castiel forcefully tilts his head from side to side, gaze raking over him.

“What is your name?” His voice is quiet. It sounds no different from the angel Dean knew; guttural, rough, with power imbued in every word.

“Dean, Dean Winchester.”

“Dean Winchester.” The dark angel plays with the name on his tongue, “There’s something about you, Dean.” He continues to hold Dean’s face tight, staring at him for a moment longer. After a couple seconds, his expression changes, a slight curl of his lips the only indicator of a smile. After a quiet moment, he releases Dean.

_ “Oi el I ozien elasa, adagita barinu a page.” _ He turns to face the other angels with a sweep of his coat.

“Understood, Castiel,” they say in unison.

“Good.” He eyes each of them. Turning back to Dean, Cas flicks a gloved hand and the other angels immediately move behind Dean, undoubtedly to reach Ketch and Charlie.

Dean tries to twist and look behind him, straining against his bonds. “Don’t you touch them, you sons of bitches!” He struggles and squirms until he’s startled by hands slamming atop the arms of his chair. Castiel stares at him, face mere inches from his. From here, Dean notices for the first time the constant twitch of his lips and the milkiness of his left eye. There are scars on his face too, he realizes. His eyes widen as he trails down the lines of stark white skin until they disappear under his suit.

When he realizes he’s been staring for far too long, his gaze snaps back to the angel’s face who looks to have been waiting patiently. A dark amusement shows in the corner of his eyes. Dean is startled how much effect this Cas is having on him, caught between a sense of danger and familiarity, he can’t seem to figure out how to process it. He’s learned to never underestimate what his Cas could do, and he has a horrible feeling he’s about to discover the same with this one.

“Don’t worry about them,” Castiel whispers to him, as if this was their own special secret. “They’ll be far better off than you if that’s any comfort.”

“Oh yeah, that’s just dandy.” Dean smiles tightly. “Better than presents on Christmas.”

Cas chuckles and it turns Dean’s stomach. “You… intrigue me.”

“Oh? And that’s why your gonna torture me huh?” Dean huffs, “Could’ve just asked me out to dinner first.”

Castiel for once doesn’t respond, just watches him, still leaning in far too close for comfort. Dean can see his thoughts turning, concocting some horrible tortures for him, no doubt.

They’re just staring now and its both nostalgic and unnerving. Dean can’t understand how to feel about this but he knows it’s not right. This feels scarily intimate and invasive—this was for him and his Cas alone, not some evil twin.

“Hey, dude.” After waiting far too long, Dean forces a laugh. “If you want to stare at a pretty face, I get it. But I think it’s a bit rude to have me tied up and all, unless you’re into that.” Dean winks, smiling to hide the pure nervousness running through his system.

This time, Cas reacts, but it’s not all the way Dean expects. The angel bends closer, breath brushing his face as he leans in to speak into his ear. He’s almost fully pressed against Dean, the rough scratch of his stubble scraping his face. Dean is stock still, body tense.

The angel’s breath tickles his hair as he speaks, “Be careful, Dean.” Castiel’s voice is low, like a growl. “Two can play at this game.”

Dean’s facade cracks. For once he doesn’t know how to respond, and his fear slips through. Castiel must sense it because Dean feels him smile. 

“You’re not as strong as you think you are,” he continues. “Keep taunting me if that’s what soothes you, but it will not keep me from tearing you apart atom by atom.” Dean shivers, the angel’s voice resonating in the dark pit of his soul. “And besides,” Castiel whispers softer now, “I kind of like it.”

Dean swallows thickly, his cheeks burning. The situation has been flipped on him, he wasn’t used to adversaries responding to his antagonizing flirtations. It was just meant to be that, antagonizing, annoying. The fact that this angel walked and talked like Cas was adding to the weird, twisted feeling of it all.

Castiel leans away and Dean finally allows himself to breathe. The angel is still in his face but at least he isn’t close enough to touch chest to chest. Dean tries to think of a witty remark but his mind refuses to provide him with one.

A scream breaks the tense silence and Dean jumps, twisting to try and see what they were doing to Charlie.

“Charlie!?” He cries.

“Now, now,” Castiel draws his attention forward, “what did I say about worrying? Maybe there’s a little game we can play that will help.” The angel taps a gloved finger against his chin in false thought, “Let’s see how long you can stay quiet.” He stands up straight, walking slowly behind Dean’s chair, Dean watching him with unblinking eyes as he does so. “The game starts when I say so, understood?”

Dean glares at him, jaw set in defiance. “Fuck you and your game.”

The angel ignores him. “Alright,” Castiel roughly grabs the sides of Dean’s head, forcing him to face the wall. “Time to play.”

All the warning Dean receives is the ringing of grace and the tingling in Cas’s fingers. Suddenly, his brain is stabbed with a hundred sharp knives, fire purging its way into his head and digging, scrambling his memories like a black hole devouring his conscious. He can’t help it, the shock convulses through his whole body and he screams.

Castiel sighs, looking down in disappointment, “No one ever wins that game.”

The screaming goes on and on until Dean’s not aware of it anymore, until all he can feel is the numbness in his limbs and the pounding in his head. His vision blurs, darkens, until he sees nothing at all, and Dean’s mind goes blank.

________________

When Dean regains consciousness, it’s to a sight he never expected to see. Castiel is sitting in a chair in front of him, staring at him with his eternally cold eyes—with a plate of food and drink.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and can’t help but groan. Whatever this Cas had done, whatever mindfuckery he’d pulled, was thoroughly and truly a pain in his ass—and his eyes, and his head, and every other part of his body for that matter.

Reluctantly opening his eyes again, Dean cautiously looks the angel up and down. “What did you do to me?” He forces the words off his heavy tongue.

The angel smiles pleasantly, “I ripped into your memories. I couldn’t see everything of course, but I will in time.” He offers Dean the plate in his hands. Dean stares at it blankly then realizes that his hands have been untied.

“You think I’m gonna fucking touch that?” he snarls, “I’m not an idiot.”

“Neither am I,” Castiel retorts. “I know your weak, mortal forms can only withstand so much, so I must make sure you don’t die prematurely.” He shoves the plate towards him further. “I need you healthy enough to survive my psychological tactics, go on.” 

Dean looks from the plate to the angel and back. Finally, he turns up his nose and sits back in his chair, arms crossed. He watches with slight satisfaction as the angel’s lips twitch and his smile fades. A flash of anger crosses his features and he stands suddenly, sending his chair skidding back. He sets the plate down and grabs the cup, marching over to Dean and grabbing his hair. Dean cries out in surprise as his head is pulled back and the cup shoved to his lips. Before he can protest, he finds himself coughing on water, liquid spilling down his neck as he struggles to breathe and drink simultaneously. Once it’s empty, the angel tosses the cup to the floor. Dean sputters and takes in great gulps of air. Castiel tightens his grip and Dean instinctively reaches up to stop him, trying to pry his fingers off. He ends up with his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle, the angel persisting in his hold as he glares down at him.

“You. Will. Eat,” he hisses, waving the plate into his free hand, pushing it in his face. “Or do I have to shove that down your throat too?”

Dean’s gaze burns with hatred as the angel lets him go. He grabs the plate from his hand, eating with deliberate slowness despite the hunger that he realizes has been turning his stomach. It’s small, just a hunk of bread, but it’s better than nothing. Once he’s done, Castiel nods, satisfied and returns to his chair.

His pleasant smile returns as if he had not nearly choked the man across from him. “So, you are a very interesting man Dean Winchester. There’s so much inside your tiny brain. I must say for a human, I’m impressed.” Dean scoffs. “Tell me,” Castiel scoots closer, his eyes bright and eager, “Why do you continue to fight against fate?”

Dean frowns, “Gonna have to give me a little more there, buddy.”

“Lucifer, Michael, your destinies—why do you fight it?”

Dean narrows his gaze, how much had this Castiel seen? Did he know of the other angel that wore his face?

“Because billions would die if we didn’t,” Dean replies.

“But they would’ve been at peace, you know. Heaven was made to house humanity after their little Earthly lives. In every universe, on every Earth, the world ends with Michael’s triumph.”

“Not every universe—ours didn’t.”

“Not yet.” Castiel smirks. “All will end the same. You just prolonged the inevitable.”

“Not if we defeat your Michael,” Dean huffs, “We defeated ours, what makes you think we can’t do it again?”

“Because.” Castiel leans forward again. “They won’t have you.”

Dean swallows, searching the angel’s face. The cocky bastard is smiling more than he’s ever seen on his Cas. “Well if that’s the end goal then why haven’t you finished it already?”

Castiel reaches out, gloved hand touching Dean’s cheek. Dean's stomach turns dangerously at the touch, dread filling him and pricking the hair on his neck. He flinches away, grabbing the angel’s wrist with his now free hands. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

The angel smirks and snaps his fingers. Dean is frozen, hands forced to his sides and mouth snapped shut. Castiel takes a deep breath, simply staring, relishing in Dean’s frustration. “You aren’t dead Dean, because I like you. I don’t know why, but I will find out. I’ll flay your mind and take your conscious but… you won’t die until I’m satisfied.”

Dean, once again rendered useless, averts his gaze to the floor to get away from the cold, cruel eyes. They made him sick.

“Oh don’t be that way,” Castiel sighs, “You should feel honored, most of my captives don’t last the night. I’m taking my time with you. Like I said, you intrigue me.”

“Be intrigued by someone else!” Dean manages to spit out.

“My, my you are feisty. Good, you’ll last me longer.” Cas rises from the chair, making his way back to Dean. He pauses briefly, eyes unfocused and far away before snapping back to reality. His smile dwindles. “Well, I’ve enjoyed our little chat, but I’m afraid my superiors are growing impatient. I need more out of you before the day ends.”

Dean's heartbeat becomes audible to his ears, sweat beading on his forehead. He can get through this, he’s been through hell, he can go through this. He’ll fight it, he won’t let this Cas pick him apart like a stuffed toy.

Castiel’s fingers rise to rest on his head again. The touch is far too soft and slow for Dean’s liking. His gut keeps screaming for him to run.

At least this time when he feels the tingling against his temples he knows what to expect. He holds his breath, adrenaline spiking in anticipation of pain. Fight, he must fight this.

“Be good Dean, and maybe I’ll reward you later.” Dean grits his teeth. Fuck that.

Grace starts to ring and Dean’s head is on fire. He lets himself scream, the needles of grace tearing their way through his brain, bringing tears to his eyes. Through the white of pain, the numbing, freezing pain, he tries to resist, to fend off the intrusion.

Dean feels Castiel’s annoyance in the grace coursing through him. What had been ice running through his veins starts to sizzle into an inferno. “I thought I said be good,” the angel snarls, fingers losing their softness, instead clawing at his skull.

“Fuck you!” Dean grits through the short moment of respite.

“Don’t tempt me,” Castiel growls dangerously.

The pain returns tenfold. Dean didn’t realize that it could get worse. His throat is retaliating, vocal cords stretching to their max and Dean can’t do a single damn thing. He’s overwhelmed, his attempt at defiance crushed in a second. And then it’s just like before. Dean loses all senses, all control. Nothing makes sense anymore. It’s just pain and darkness and the angel, ever-present, ever watching, melting his memories like ice to water. It’s not long before Dean feels himself slipping again. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he goes limp, consciousness ripped from his grasp.

_________________

It goes on and on, the same every day—or what Dean guesses are days. He feels the toll of the torture starting to truly affect him. For some reason, he can’t stop shaking now. His nerves must be shot or maybe it’s just the constant presence of the angel in the room.

Dean hadn’t realized until a while later that Ketch and Charlie were nowhere to be seen. Where they’d been taken, Dean had no way of knowing—not that he can help them at the moment.

He’s been tied to the same chair for what seems like forever. Dean’s surprised his hygiene hasn’t been an issue yet. He realizes he hadn’t had to use the bathroom since he got here and he wonders if it’s just the angel not being above at least a certain level of cleanliness.

So far, Dean has no idea what information Castiel has taken from him or where that information was being delivered to. He dreads to think and didn’t dare ask, though he doesn’t have the energy to even if he wanted to.

Despite having been rendered unconscious multiple times now, Dean hasn’t gotten a single minute of sleep. His eyes are heavy and he feels slightly detached from reality. He’s afraid he might be starting to lose his mind.

Right now, he tries to concentrate on breathing. He felt it getting harder and harder with each mindfuck Cas put him through. Did the angel know he was likely damaging his involuntary nervous system? He was certain that in a couple more days if Cas didn’t stop and no help came, the next time he passed out, he may never wake up.

Currently, the angel was leaning against the wall, watching him as he always did. Lately, the angel had been quiet after he dived into Dean’s memories. The eagerness he had before had turned into something quiet and unidentifiable. Dean never knew what to expect from this Castiel. Every interaction surprises him and reminds him how much he shouldn’t underestimate his best friend’s counterpart.

He hates to admit it, but he feels genuine fear of him. He’d faced Lucifer and Amara and countless monsters but this angel, there is a difference in the way he looks at him, touches him. Even in torture, this Castiel is very… Dean could only describe it as intimate. It feels _ wrong _.

Dean has always been able to communicate and understand his Cas through simple eye contact, little words need to be spoken. He finds it horrifyingly easy to do the same with this one—and this Cas knows it too, soaking it in like a starved dog, devouring what little interactions they had, no matter how horrid. It’s almost desperate.

It makes Dean wonder… what had happened to this Castiel? It was obvious from the scars and mannerisms that Cas wasn’t like this by choice. He’d been twisted. By who and how, Dean doesn’t know, but it makes him curious if there is any drop of his Cas in this one, buried deep beneath the surface.

Castiel seems to sense his thoughts and pushes himself off the wall, sitting in front of Dean like he always does.

The angel looks pensive, searching Dean’s tired face. There is no joy in his eyes, no flash of cruel glee or harmful intent, just genuine concern. That throws Dean for a loop. If it weren’t for the milky eye, scars, and outfit, he could’ve almost passed for his Castiel. Almost. The emotion in the blue is still lacking.

Dean can’t bring himself to speak, studying Cas as the angel studies him, each curious of the other.

The angel sighs, jaw clenching as he thinks. The next words from his mouth surprise Dean yet again. “There’s another like me, isn’t there.”

Dean blinks, pausing for a moment. He nods.

“And you… know this other Castiel.”

“You could say that.” Dean’s voice is rough from the screaming.

“What is he like, this other me?”

Dean stares, mouth half-open as he debates his next words. “He’s a good fighter and has a good heart, even if he messes up sometimes.” Dean smiles to himself, finding comfort in thinking of his friend. “He’s a strategist, a leader, cold when he needs to be. But… he’s kind and caring… warm and genuine.” His mind trails off, fatigue pulling him further into the comfort of his own head. “He likes nature and reading. He likes to watch stupid romance movies on Netflix when he thinks I can’t see and… he’s one of the greatest people I’ve ever met.” A warmth builds in his chest, a comfort in the dark as his smile grows.

His smile fades when he returns to reality. The dark Castiel’s expression has changed. He is stone, unreadable, completely blank. Dean can see the gears turning as the seconds tick on and Dean grows more and more nervous.

His stomach sinks as the cruel, twisted smile returns to Castiel’s face, the short tender moment gone in the blink of an eye. The angel doesn’t say anything but his wolfish grin makes Dean want to sink further into his seat. Dean sets his jaw, raising his chin despite his fear. He gathers his courage and says with a snarl, “And you’re not him.”

A twitch is all the response he receives. Something dark pools in the angel’s eyes, subtle but apparent to Dean whose known those eyes for years.

The angel stands, the grin still on his face. He walks towards the hall, pausing before he turns the corner. He gives Dean one last look then walks away, a chuckle that chills Dean’s bones echoing through the room.

Dean doesn’t know what he said or what he’d provoked, but he strongly wishes that he hadn’t spoken at all.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day is like all the others: dark and miserable. Castiel hadn’t returned after their conversation, giving Dean one glorious day of respite and sleep—but the chair was still cold and his limbs still sore. It was nice at first until the utter silence sunk in after a couple of hours. He couldn’t help but remember his time in solitary confinement—or Hell when Alistar decided to really fuck with his head. His rest turned into restlessness and he ended up humming every Led Zeppelin song he knew for the rest of the day so that he could hear some sort of sound.

When he’d awoken he began his humming again but now, as he hears the turn of a doorknob, he stops. The dark trench coat sweeps silently around the corner as the angel enters once again. Dean watches him closely. Nothing seems to be much different, his stance is still stiff as stone as was his face. What is he hiding? Last night had obviously changed something and it’s driving Dean crazy with anxiety.

He’d been through torture, nearly every kind of horrible, twisted cruelty—he knew he could survive anything this Cas threw at him, but it was just a matter of how many more scars he’d leave in the process and how much of a burden they’d be to bear.

Castiel stands in front of him, forgoing his usual chair and morning chats—if they could be called that. Their eyes meet and lock. Dean stares, hard and cold, calculating. If he could find a tell then he’d be able to gauge the angel’s next move. It’s a dance that Dean had done with many before.

Castiel paces, a tiger behind self-imposed bars. He starts to fidget. Dean watches carefully how his fingers and lips twitch. His pacing quickens and Dean can only guess the cause. If it was his Cas then he would say it was frustration and indecision.

After several minutes of the dizzying repetitiveness, Castiel stops, frozen for a moment. There’s a spark of something in his eye and then he shoots forward, placing both hands on Dean’s arms and leaning close to his face as he had the first day. Dean flinches and blinks up at the angel whose eyes burn with a question.

Castiel works his mouth, trying to form a sentence that refuses to come out. His irritation builds and he growls at himself, causing Dean to flinch again.

Finally, Dean blurts out, “What do you want?”

Castiel takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and composing himself. “I—” Cas meets his eyes again, “I want to see. Let me see myself.”

Dean swallows, “It’s not you. The Cas I know is nothing like you—

“Let me see!” Castiel bites out, “I just want… I just want to know.” Cas raises his hands to Dean’s temples and Dean’s heart rate immediately spikes but he keeps his mouth shut. “Just let me see—it won’t hurt if you let me.”

“Like hell I’m willingly letting you in my head!” Castiel doesn’t seem to hear him. A glazed over expression falls onto his face. A blue starts to radiate behind his eyes and Dean grits his teeth, waiting.

The grace cuts through his mind once again, same as always. He cries out, muscles tensed as the pain envelops all, but to his surprise, it fades. He gasps, still feeling the grace twisting and cutting into his mind but it’s bearable. “The hell are you doing?!” Dean yells in alarm.

Castiel hums, a fascinated look of awe hypnotizing him. “These memories are… pleasant. Some painful but… they’re very nice.” Flashes of memory after memory roll across Dean’s mind, forcing him to shut his eyes or risk becoming nauseous from the assault of images. After a while, the memories become more clear to him. It’s like playing a movie of his life in his own head—except it’s all Cas. Every experience Dean had with his angel plays out in front of him, flashing through joy, grief, pain, and a warm feeling Dean refuses to name. It passes on forever but is over within seconds.

He blinks awake.

A look that mimics Dean’s own decorates the angel’s face. He stares at Dean with surprise, a wistful longing softening his features. It’s so human that Dean almost wonders how it could be the same angel that had tortured him before.

“ _ Ol zir zomdv arezodi od elasa biab ozien… _ ” Castiel speaks softly.

Dean stares at him, brow furrowing with confusion. “What does that mean?”

The look Dean receives simultaneously scares and pulls at Dean’s heart. It is the exact look his Cas would give him, but this isn’t his Cas.

The angel rises, breaking their gaze and snaps his fingers. All of Dean’s bonds fall to the floor. Dean is too shocked to react. “What are you doing?”

Castiel is silent, face unreadable. Dean stands for the first time in days, his muscles protest and rejoice all at once, but he doesn’t let himself relax. “Castiel, what are you doing?” The angel grabs the front of his shirt and Dean immediately tries to rip it from his grasp. Instead the grip tightens and Dean is all but dragged out of the room and to the hall. “The fuck! Let me go! I SAID LET ME GO!!”

Cas does not let go. The angel ignores his protests and Dean fights, claws, and punches but it does nothing but trip up his feet, and he ends up being dragged by his shirt across the floor. “LET ME GO YOU SON OF A BITCH!” The angel has said absolutely nothing and it’s filling Dean with dread. He hears the swing of a door and suddenly he’s forced upright and pushed. He starts to fall, disoriented only to find himself land on something soft. He blinks, looking around wildly. It’s… a room. He’s on a bed. He forces himself farther away as Castiel enters in after him.

“What is this?” He asks again.

Castiel smirks, and by god, it disorienting how fast the angel’s mood changes. The dark look he had seen the night before shines bright in his eyes. He waves the door closed and casually begins to take off his gloves. Dean watches the movement with nervousness. The angel’s hands are scarred, littered with cuts that stripe his tan skin white.

“Oh… I’m sure you can figure this one out, Dean Winchester.”

The next to go is the trench coat, thrown carelessly to the floor along with his gloves. Dean’s brain scrambles to find an explanation and at the same time, he scans the room for any potential weapons. The closest is a side table with a broken mirror, glass scattered across it.

Castiel takes off his vest, his wolfish grin once again directed towards Dean and finally, it clicks. Dean pales, all blood draining from his limbs and leaving him numb.

“No. No. No! You stay the fuck away from me!” He jumps off the bed and backs towards the side table.

“Why? I saw your memories, I know what you feel.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! And whatever you think is going on you are so very wrong!”

“Am I?” Castiel approaches him, leisurely undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. “Because I saw it, Dean, I felt it. You love him.”

Dean swallows thickly, his heart tightening painfully, betraying his own mind. “You’re not him okay. How many times I gotta say that!”

“Just pretend for a while. Isn’t this what you want? You can have him—me—no consequences, no worrying about after.”

“Your job is to torture me for information, you aren’t doing this for me, you creep!”

Dean reaches behind him, gripping the edge of the table to hide his grab for the glass. Castiel stops just out of slashing range, rolling the shirt off his shoulders, sliding it off his arms. Dean’s eyes widen as it reveals the full carnage of the angel’s scars. His eyes trace down the criss-cross of lines and indents, a mosaic of cruelty that had obviously been built up from years and years of repeated torments. Dean is horrified, both for himself and for whatever happened or is still happening to this Cas. He only has enough time to feel a drop of pity before the angel is moving towards him, smile wide.

“Yes… I do find you appealing. But it would be a mutual exchange. You get what you want and I get what I want. I already have several days worth of information from you, Dean. I can make it last, I won’t need to take from your thoughts for a while now. If you’re here with me, that means you don’t have to be back there, and I don’t have to hurt you. Is that suitable for you?”

“No!!” Dean yells in his face, “I’m not gonna be your fucking whore, fuckwad!”

Cas sighs, a tick forming under his left eye. “You know,” he says dangerously silent, “I don’t appreciate the name calling.”

Dean doesn’t back down, “And I don’t like being tortured and raped but not everyone gets what they want.”

Cas takes another step closer, almost nose to nose. Dean tenses, ready. “You know… you should thank me. Most of the humans in my charge die quickly. I can take memories much quicker than what I’ve done with you, and their little brains just fizzle out. But you’ve grown on me Dean and I don’t want to get rid of you just yet.” He leans forward to whisper in his ear, “You’re my new favorite.” A hand brushes Dean’s side and he swings into action. Dean punches the angel square in the face. He barely budges but it’s enough for Dean to take a swing, the glass shard in his hand. It slices across the angel’s cheek and he brings his hand back down to stab.

He’s caught by the wrist, the angel’s reflexes unnaturally fast. Dean tries to push through it, reach his target but Castiel’s grip is firm. After a few moments of gasping and futile attempts, he catches Cas’s murderous gaze. Before he knows it, he drops the glass as his wrist is twisted at an odd angle and a hand at his throat throws him back down onto the bed. Dean struggles against the hold, trying with one hand to pry the fingers from his neck.

“Just this once,” Castiel says as he glares down at Dean’s reddening face, “I will forgive you for that.” Unable to use his arms, Dean kicks straight into Castiel’s torso, earning him a pained grunt. “And that,” Cas grits. Suddenly Dean finds his legs pinned to the bed and true panic starts to set in. Castiel crawls onto the bed, keeling over him, letting go of his throat and wrist to frame Dean’s head with his arms.

“This is a gift you don’t understand”, Cas says sincerely, “not yet.” He leans down and mouths against Dean’s neck. The panic and bile rise in Dean’s throat. He pushes against the angel’s chest, trying to throw him off. In response, Castiel trails a hand down to Dean’s belt buckle, undoing it quickly and pulling down his zipper.

“Stop! Stop it!”

This is insane. This can’t be happening. Dean looks around wildly, there are no more weapons he could use.

He gasps when the angel effortlessly pulls down both his pants and boxers without stopping, forcing his legs apart. “PLEASE STOP!” Dean screams, and the angel actually listens.

Dean realizes he is shaking as the angel rises off of him, eyeing him curiously. He pauses, deep in thought. “This… disturbs you.”

Dean gawks at him, disgusted, “Yes!”

“But you like this body… I don’t understand.” The honest to god confusion in his voice sends chills down Dean’s spine.

Dean stares, panting hard, his heart echoing in his ears. His mind is buzzing yet frozen all at once. The angel is waiting for him to speak and Dean tries to think of  _ something _ that will stop Castiel’s advances. But Dean couldn’t think of any morals, any code this mad man would follow. His pattern was too sporadic. But he had to say something.

Dean breathes in and out, slowly, letting his eyes close for a second before returning to his horrid reality, face set in stone, emotionless. “I don’t want you,” he says slowly, “and I don’t want him. You’ve got it wrong. I’m not in love with anyone.”

Castiel tilts his head, scrutinizing. He frowns, doubt momentarily flashing across his features. “Perhaps…” Cas reaches out a hand towards Dean's forehead, “I interpreted wrong. I’ve been seeing your memories but I hadn’t looked into your emotions.” Dean freezes, a deer in the headlights as Cas presses two fingers to his head. He squeezes his eyes shut as Cas’s begin to glow.

He’s fucked. He feels it in his gut. He’s wrong, and Castiel was going to see it and then his fate would be sealed. He shakes harder, trying to keep the tears from his eyes, to prepare. It couldn’t be that bad. He’s had sex plenty of times. It’d be okay.

The fingers slip off his forehead. Dean forces his eyes open to watch the angel’s expression change before him. The angel’s icy eyes burn into his as soon as they meet. Silence. Dean sees the flare of his nostrils, the tensing of his muscles. Dean can imagine the wings spread out behind him, dark and intimidating, devouring. The angel shifts slowly, thighs squeezing tightly around his waist as he bends down, crouching like a tiger over his chest. His hand trails down, resting along his jaw, a thumb stroking his stubble. He opens his mouth, leaning towards his. His words come out as a hiss, “You lied.”

Dean chokes back a whimper as the angel captures his lips, legs still immobile he pushes with his hands, doing nothing. “Please…” he asks again as the angel lets him up for breath.

The angel hums, “Be good and I’ll consider your requests.”

Then Dean is drowning, his thoughts overwhelming as the angel continues. It would be over soon. It’s okay. He’s going to be okay.

________________

Dean thinks he’s had horrible nights before, but they were nothing compared to this. He can confidently say this is the worst night of his life. It isn’t the marks on his skin or the phantom touch of what happened, it’s that when the angel was done, he didn’t leave. He’d cleaned them with a touch and then settled down next to Dean, arm draped over him as he lay on his stomach. Angels didn’t sleep, Dean knew that for sure, but this Cas seems to at least need rest—it was that or the angel was feigning it, adding to his cruelty.

His presence clings to Dean’s side. He can’t make him leave, he can’t let his guard down, and he can’t scream at the world as he desperately needs to. He’s left cold and naked with this  _ thing _ at his side. He can only cry silently and hope that the angel is truly asleep.

He lies there, staring at the ceiling for hours, knowing no sleep will come. Sitting there with a false version of his friend at his side, Dean feels utterly and truly alone. As the silence continues, unbearable and suffocating, his heart aches.

He misses Cas. His Cas.

Dean finds himself thinking of all the things this Cas is not, how much kinder and lovely his angel is, how much bluer his eyes are, the warmth of his gaze. He wishes he could feel his eyes on him now, comforting and familiar.

It’s embedded in his being, the angel woven into his heart, unable to leave. A deep part of him wants to rip it out, be rid of this bond before it kills him but he knows it isn’t possible. Deeper still, his soul embraces it, yearning for the feather touches and soft words. If it kills him so be it.

He needs Cas, and no doppelganger, no replica could ever replace him.

Before he can stop himself, he starts praying. It seems natural somehow, though he knows it wouldn’t help his situation. There’s no way Cas could find where he is with how warded this place undoubtedly is. He may not even hear him, but it soothes the pain in Dean’s heart.

_ Hey Cas…  _ Dean smiles sadly to himself, envisioning his friend’s panicked expression,  _ Been awhile buddy. I know I’ve been gone a while now. Don’t know how long… But I’m alive. No idea where Charlie and Ketch are but—I hope they’re alive too. Some angels ambushed us on our rescue mission, Ketch thought someone on our end spilled the beans, not that it matters now.  _ Dean is rambling he knows, but he finds his thoughts getting away from him. He swallows around the lump in his throat.  _ I just… I wanted to talk to you even though you probably can’t hear this.  _ His thoughts wander back to the arm draped over him, his emotions threatening to pull him down yet again. He grits his teeth and forces the tears at bay.  _ I—I’m sorry. I should probably shut up but I just need to talk to someone right now okay Cas. Just put up with my crap a little longer.  _ Dean laughs softly to himself.  _ Um… things aren’t good here Cas… I’ll live, I don’t know how long he’ll have me around but… I don’t want him to do anymore Cas. I’m scared of what he’ll do. The torture was fine but then he— _ Dean squeezes his eyes shut and tries his damndest to ignore the bruises on his legs.  _ God, just please... if you can, come find us. I know you’re trying, you really are but… keep trying…  _ He wants to keep going, spill his heart out but he knows it’s pointless. Instead, he prays,  _ Say hi to mom and Sammy for me will you? I won’t waste any more of your time. I guess I’ll sign off now… Take care of yourself for me. Over and out. _

Dean lets out a breath, long and slow, forcing himself to calm. It feels oppressively silent again. Dean hates it.

He continues to lay still, it may yet be a few hours before the day begins, so he closes his eyes and tries to forget the world.

_________________

The world wakes him with a soft ray of sunlight. It pierces his eyes and he groans, turning away from the glow.

He feels warm skin under his hands as he leans away. It’s far more comforting than the cold room so he sighs and leans into it. It takes a few seconds for his tired mind to remember the predator under that skin.

Dean’s eyes fly open and he recoils instantly. His knuckles turn white as he clutches the thin sheet beneath his fingers.

Castiel stares at him from across the distance Dean put between them. The angel’s lip curls with a soft smile and his eyes crinkle at the corners, “You are quite beautiful in your sleep. I can see why your Castiel liked to watch so much.” Dean doesn’t like it. He glares, watching the angel’s relaxed behavior. Castiel isn’t phased. He tilts his head, hair a mess, and sits up, the sheet sliding off his torso. The scars once again draw Dean’s eye, they are too numerous to count.

Cas swings his legs off the bed, standing with his naked back to Dean’s view. Dean turns away, refusing to watch as the angel slides his clothes back on, a bitter taste in his mouth. He doesn’t move, simply waiting until the angel finally pats down his coat, gloves in hand and makes his way over to him. Dean doesn’t move as the angel stops in front of him. Castiel scrapes his gaze over him, a strangely proud smile on his lips. He softly grabs Dean’s chin in one hand, lifting it to face him. 

“You did well,” he speaks softly, gentle, “Next time I’ll be more forgiving.” He lets go, kneeling to open a drawer of the side table. He stands, a towel in his hands and offers it to Dean. “There is a bathroom through the door over there,” Cas nods towards a door to the right of the bed. “Clean yourself and I will return with food for you.” Dean’s brow furrows, looking from Cas to the towel. Castiel holds it out farther. Hesitantly, Dean takes the towel, placing it on his lap to cover his nakedness. Cas nods, satisfied and heads for the door to the hall. He slips on his gloves and turns the door handle before pausing, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t try anything,” he says casually, “for your own sake.” He steps out of the room, locking the door behind him with a click.

Dean lets out a breath he forgot he was holding, letting his shoulders sag, the mask he wore ripped off as he lets his face crumble. He sits up, hands gripping the edge of the bed, trying to get a hold of himself. He was finally away from that monster, he could have a moment of peace. Dean shudders and lets his face fall into his hands. He tries to breathe in and out, concentrate, forget. But his mind is cruel and shoves his shame to the forefront of his mind.

Why? What was it about him that made Cas choose him? Not Charlie, not Ketch—him. From the beginning, Cas had taken an interest in him. Dean had known something was different, he just hadn’t known how different.

But the more Dean thinks about it, the less different it seems. His Cas had also chosen him, that’s how it all started hadn’t it? Heaven’s plan, Dean’s rescue and then Cas was stuck—he stayed for Dean, the angel said as much. Was it this way in every universe? They were magnetic, forced to be together by forces out of their control, a bond woven by fate. Cas had told him of their bond, but it had never been brought up again. Maybe Cas had hidden the truth of it from him, not that he could blame him. There were many truths they kept buried far out of reach. This variation was a dark, vile version of what Dean had— _ has _ with his Cas.

Dean let out a shaky sigh, digging his palms into his eyes before forcing himself to stand, wincing and cursing as he does. He can feel the grime and dirt leftover from his cold sweat through the night and the disgusting sheets that probably hadn’t been cleaned in years. Not to mention how sore he is. Cas had shown no mercy, no restraint to his angelic strength, and it showed. Dean hopes this Castiel wasn’t toying with him about the shower because he deserves some god damn relief—even if he was confused as fuck as to why he was being allowed it. Probably some stupid conditioning to make him feel grateful. But he’d be damned if he fell for the Stockholm Syndrome shit.

Picking up his clothes that had been haphazardly strewn across the floor, Dean walks through the door, sighing in relief when he indeed saw a shower. It was just as filthy as the bed but at least it had running water.

He turns the knob, letting the water fall between his fingers and wash the dirt from the tub floor. He’s pleasantly surprised when the water warms. With humans having abandoned water services and any other pre-Michael civility years ago, Dean has no idea how it’s still working but decides not to question it. He steps in, shoulders sagging as the warm water hits his skin. It feels like heaven.

Steam rises, fogging the cracked mirror in the small bathroom. He lets the fog settle, clouding his mind and the room, nothing else matters right now.

He scrubs at his hair, his arms, his chest, cleaning himself as best he can. For a moment, he closes his eyes, just rubbing the dirt from his skin until he starts to run his hands down his legs and withdraws suddenly.

His nostrils flare. He glares down at his hands, observing them as his own. He shouldn’t be fucking scared, he’s been through worse, this shouldn’t be an issue. Jaw set, he scrubs the rest of himself down roughly, ignoring the slight pressure of the occasional bruise.

Anger wells up inside him as he rubs harder, almost peeling his skin raw just to get the feeling of grit and cum out of his pores, his ever defiant soul snarling and rearing its prideful head. Finally, he stops and hisses, his own nails leaving a small cut on his arm. He stares at it, watches the blood meld with the water droplets and fall to the tub floor.

He yells, punching the stone tile. He barely feels the blood on his fist as he leans forward, shoulders heaving, and rests his forehead against the wall. The water pummels his head, dripping into his eyes. He blinks them away.

Angry, that’s what he is. He doesn’t need pity or comfort, he needs to plan an escape and kill the bastard that did this to him. He doesn’t care that he wears his friend’s face, he is cruel, he is ruthless, he is evil.

How dare he be lowered to this, an angel’s whore. He was the master of his fate, he could take back control, no one would command his life.

But he can’t just wreck and destroy, fight his hardest and be done. No… he’d have to wait and strategize. This Cas wasn’t stupid. He’d expect rebellion, craved it, it seemed, but he’d also be suspicious if he was compliant… this was a game. It was all just a game to him.

Dean bares his teeth, barely holding back a hiss. “You wanna play?” Dean growls between gritted teeth. “Then let’s play.” He stands straight, turning the water off and stepping out of the tub. He dries quickly and dons his clothes, his own shining armor. If there were any intelligent monsters in all the multiverse they should learn by now not to fuck with Dean Winchester.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean waits for Castiel’s return, sitting still on the bed, back straight and chin held high. He’s already observed the room, getting a more thorough look at what was at his disposal. The glass from the night before is gone and besides a table and a dresser, the room is utterly bland. Two windows frame the bed, wooden boards nailed to the walls to block them, but many had rotted and let in streams of sunlight which had woken Dean earlier. At least he can finally tell the time again.

He sits, basking in the light, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, letting it wash over him, calm him. It’s a small but luxurious freedom.

The door clicks and Dean looks over calmly, watching the handle turn. His eyes slide up to watch the angel’s face as he enters. There is a soft smile on his face, a platter of food in his hand. He closes the door gently, a quiet, domestic gesture.

Castiel sits beside him, dipping the bed and placing the platter between them. On it lies water, bread, and a stew of some kind—more than what he was allowed last time. Whatever it is actually has a pleasant smell and he can’t help the way his mouth waters and his eyes stare hungrily. It must’ve been days since he’s had a decent meal.

He ignores the base instinct in him, staring with unwavering intensity at the quiet angel. He must play his part perfectly, not so submissive as to draw suspicion but not so defiant as to frustrate Cas enough to get rid of him.

He swallows as the angel meets his gaze, his head tilting with curiosity. Dean sets his jaw. “What do you want?”

Castiel huffs a laugh, smile pulling his lips, “I want you to eat.”

“No,” Dean is firm, “What do you want from  _ me? _ ”

Cas sighs, “I thought I’d told you already.”

“You just wanted sex, so what’s this domestic bullshit? Don’t pretend to be soft to me.”

The angel frowns, “Is it not permissible to give you care after our lovemaking?”

_ Lovemaking?  _ Dean tries not to sneer at the word. “You don’t care, so don’t pretend to.”

Cas’s frown deepens into sadness, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“You  _ tortured _ me!”

“It’s only my job. It’s not personal, Dean.”

“And is it your job to be cruel? Because I think you love it, you  _ love _ fucking with me and playing with my head. If you cared for anyone other than yourself you wouldn’t hurt them—”

“Enough.” The tone of Castiel’s voice stops him, the tick returning under his eye. The angel scans him and Dean waits patiently. Cas reaches out his hand and this time Dean doesn’t flinch. He touches his cheek and Dean is surprised when he feels the flow of grace shock his system. Slowly, the soreness leaves his body and he feels the bruises fade. Despite himself, he sighs in relief and slouches forward as Cas pulls away.

“There. Is that better?”

Dean nods, refusing to thank him. Cas hums, eyes going soft, “Next time I’ll be more careful.” Dean frowns at the statement. He had known that Cas wouldn’t be satisfied with just one night, but it being confirmed again shook him more than he realized. Refusing it wouldn’t be an option, fighting wouldn’t help. He takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily through his nose.

Cas seems to notice, brows furrowing and Dean immediately straightens, going cold again. Cas sighs, pushing the food platter further towards him, “Enjoy this. Do you know how much it takes for this to go unnoticed by my superiors? I’m putting myself on the line for you, Dean.”

Dean’s lip twitches. “Then why risk it?”

“Because.” Cas smiles again, lips wide and teeth gleaming. “There’s something about you… I feel  _ something _ when I’m with you. At first, I thought it was just the normal lust but… as I saw more of you, the more I realized that it was much more than that.”

Dean swallows, “Or you’re just making excuses for your behavior.”

Castiel huffs, offended, but the flash of anger in his eyes soon fades, “The bond you feel with your universe’s Castiel, tell me, do you think it’s possible that it is that way in every universe?”

Dean pauses, chilled by the vocalization of his past thoughts. He knows where this conversation is leading, “It’s not a literal bond… Cas never meant it like that,” he replies, hiding his surprise.

“Didn’t he?” Cas leans closer with a hope-filled smile. “Then tell me, Dean, why are our fates so intertwined? Why is it that you and I, in every iteration of this world must meet?” Dean didn’t want to answer that question, it sounds all too big and grand for his taste. God might’ve made him and Sam for the apocalypse, but to think that he and Cas were always meant to be together somehow… but it wasn’t like he hadn’t already considered that option.

“Whether it’s the past, the future, or another world… I’m always here aren’t I? With  _ you. _ ”

Dean shakes his head, brows knit tight, “I don’t care for whatever destiny bullshit you want to think this is, it still changes nothing.”

“No.” Cas touches him again, to his disdain. “It changes everything… I can prove it to you.”

“How?”

Cas tilts his head, a satisfied smile. “Last night… you know I heard you.” Dean does all he can to hide the alarm from his face. He couldn’t have heard his prayer—it wasn’t possible.

“Heard what?”

“Your prayer… I felt it, your longing, your desperation…”

No, no, no that couldn’t be right. “You’re lying!”

“I believe it was along the lines of  _ you just needed someone to talk to,  _ to  _ come save you  _ and to  _ put up with your crap a little while longer. _ ”

Dean is angry now. He has just enough of a mind to stay cool, to not ruin his plan but he is furious. “Those words were not for you.”

“But I heard them all the same. In a world where there are two of me, it must be easy for prayers to get their wires crossed, for bonds to overlap.”

“_I am not in love with you!” _he growls between gritted teeth. That gets Cas twitching again, the softness he was trying to maintain melting slowly as a darkness clouds his gaze. He stands suddenly, hands clenched into fists, as he towers over him.

“Not yet but you soon will be, whatever you have with your Cas you have with me! The universe has its rules and you  _ will _ obey them!” Cas’s face is inches from his own and in a thoughtless motion too quick for Dean to realize, Dean slaps him across the face. They both freeze.

Dean stares in astonishment at his own hand, that had not been part of the plan. He tenses, looking up slowly to meet Cas’s furious face. A growl hisses between his lips and then Dean is thrown against the wall. His breath is ripped from him as his head and spine are jarred, his feet several feet off the ground as he’s held against the wall by the angel’s power. He blinks back into focus, breathing fast. Castiel’s gloved hand is raised, holding him in an invisible grip. Anger bleeds from his black-coated form as he makes his way over, sighing deeply and clasping his hands behind his back. He stops in front of him, taking several deep breaths and closing his eyes, calming gradually before looking to Dean again.

He stares at him, gaining all of Dean’s focus. He speaks slowly, softly, with obvious effort, “I understand that you are… upset. But the sooner you accept what we are, what we are commanded to be, then the easier this transition will be for you.” Dean stays silent, not daring to aggravate him again. “This will be better for the both of us, you just have to let it happen. I know that your instinct is to fight fate, but maybe for once, try playing along. It could do you well.”

Dean slowly slides down the wall until his feet land softly on the ground in front of the angel. They do not speak but simply stare—as was their nature. Dean tries to read the angel’s face once again, to peek behind the curtain and find his true self… but what he sees surprises him. Behind the anger and frustration, behind his cruel instinct, Dean sees a drop of genuine… dare he call it love. The same blue, the same face… maybe it was a trick of Dean’s mind.

He never figures it out as Cas turns away, opening the door once again without looking back. “Eat, you need your strength.” The door slams shut and is locked once more.

Understanding slowly dawns. As the initial shock fades, pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Whatever him and his Cas had, be it a connection or love, this Cas felt it and was confused, thought it was his or could be shared—or just wanted it for himself. Was he simply so desperate for love that he would take it in any form? Whatever the reason, it gave Dean a better idea of how to use the situation to his advantage. He was sure of one thing, one thing that would make his whole plan so much easier: whenever he thought of his Cas, whatever emotion came with it, this Castiel would feel. And oh how easy this could be if Dean just let himself feel what he knew was the truth.

_________________

After the incident, Dean gradually learns how to deceive Castiel. It’s not hard, he finds out, he simply has to balance his moments of rebellion with moments of surrender. As much as he hates it, this tends to work best at night when Castiel’s physical desires need satisfying. Dean plays his games, fights just enough for him to grow frustrated only to give in and play along at times. It was also helpful that when Dean voluntarily adds to the activity, Castiel becomes surprisingly compliant, letting him take control, which Dean took note of. The poor, sick, deprived bastard was too trusting… Dean hates how much that didn’t surprise him.

He continues this pattern over the next couple days. Cas comes to give him two meals a day, leaving for a couple hours to who knows where then returning for some very tense talks on Dean’s part that seem to satisfy the angel. Maybe he couldn’t comprehend emotions enough to know that Dean was definitely not anywhere closer to loving him. The words they shared would seem friendly out of context, but if any rational person observed the uncomfortableness of the situation they would’ve known that was very much not the case. Cas couldn’t be that stupid, unless he was more messed up than Dean thought. Or maybe Dean was just his kryptonite.

The more Dean thinks about it, the more Dean realizes that maybe Castiel’s theory isn’t as crazy as he thought. He isn’t an expert when it comes to angels and “profound bonds” but how else would he have heard his prayer? If angels could sense longing and emotions directed towards them, in their crazy lives, why couldn’t it be possible that the laws of the universe became misconstrued when an anomaly occurred?—like oh, say, two of the same angel in one universe. But that then left the second half of the theory, would Dean inevitably fall for this Castiel?

Dean dreads to consider it. If it is true, then with each passing day it would become harder and harder to pretend and less difficult to truly believe in the twisted romance he’d been forced into. He pushes the thought from his mind. His anchor, his rock in this whole situation, was  _ his _ Cas.

That is how he’s getting through this thing, isn’t it? To fool his doppelganger, Dean must always think of his angel, his pure, sweet angel. It was his key to survival and escape.

If he ever gets out of this, Dean knows that things will never be the same between them. If this Cas could feel Dean’s love, then he was sure as hell his Cas could feel it too. There was no going back.

To keep up the facade also requires Dean to think about things he’d promised never to think about… like the soft moments he refused to acknowledge, the quirks and traits he admires so much, how they’d both hurt each other and how much he yearned to make up for it, to forgive... but to say so would be to bring up what they had. He couldn’t hide it anymore.

It’s sad, Dean knows, that it took  _ this _ to get him to admit anything. But he guesses that’s the epitome of his life. He’s so fucking stubborn and he knows it.

Dean shakes the thought from his head, he’ll have enough self-deprecating thoughts once this is over. He doesn't need to start early.

He sighs, kneeling down to peer behind the bedside table. He moves it slightly, allowing him room to scratch another mark into the wall with his nail. If his calculations and mental calendar are correct, today would mark the third week since his capture. How have Sam and Cas not found him yet? He tries not to let that fact eat into him, but the fact was that it was worrying him more than he let on.

Was he that far from the camp? How far had they been taken?—not to mention where had Ketch and Charlie gone? Too many unknowns for his liking.

He would’ve prayed to Cas again, to give a stronger signal or however the angel sensed what Dean was feeling, but Dean didn’t dare now that he knew there was a chance he could be overheard. Cas would just have to rely on good ol’ longing and the man pain that must be like white noise to him.

It was harder than he expected, being away from Cas so long. Usually, he was fine, but now that he was constantly thinking about him, yearning for him in any way he could have him. It was dangerous considering the circumstances.

Dean finishes adding the tick mark and moves the table back into place. He sighs, bored like every other day. He’d already found the hidden sigils in the room, warding it, and he’d scratched them off, hoping it’d help him in some way. But every time he rechecked he found them whole again. He suspected Castiel knew of this but the angel hadn’t confronted him about it, so he kept doing it anyway. He also added a banishing sigil on the underside of the bed frame, just in case. This one had not disappeared and somehow Cas hadn’t questioned the long scratch on his arm though he gave him a knowing gaze when he took his arm gently, letting his grace flow and mending the skin before his eyes.

Castiel knew, but he wasn’t voicing the knowledge, just looking at Dean with disappointment. He hadn’t had any outbursts of anger in a while, which was surprising. Was he really trying to woo Dean by controlling his rage? He was being patient for him, giving him special treatment.

But how long would that last? He still wasn’t giving Cas what he wants—pure and utter devotion. Dean was smart enough to give in little by little, at a crawling pace to at least maintain the softness the angel was giving him. It was just a matter of how long the angel would wait before he snapped and simply took it.

They were both playing the waiting game it seemed. Who would cave to the lie first?

Dean was tired. Very tired. It wasn’t much pain this time, Cas was softer with him now, but the mental strain, the constant fighting of his instincts to retaliate, knowing that he  _ didn’t want to do this _ … it made it so much harder.

He doesn’t want to think about it right now. So he heads for the shower, his only time for privacy.

He grabs a towel from the side table, locking the bathroom door before stripping down and turning the knob, letting the water warm. He steps in, the water beating down on him, and lets his mind go blank. Dean doesn’t know how long he stays there but it’s enough for his nerves to calm and his body to sag lethargically from the steam.

He dries off, wrapping the towel around his waist and grabbing his clothes on instinct, opening the door. His spirits drop when he sees Castiel sitting patiently for him, eyes immediately glancing to his bare chest. Dean looks to the broken windows, it’s night already. Dammit, he was hoping to have more time alone before what was coming.

He’s far past the point of panic, simply resigned to it. Dean walks towards the angel, waiting for whatever he wanted to say today so he can get this over with.

The angel scans him further, soft smile on his face. “You look well today.”

“Thanks,” he responds, no gratitude in his voice. Cas still smiles.

The angel rises, making his way over to Dean. Dean holds still, gaze unwavering as the angel caresses a hand on his side and one over his chest. His fingers thrum against the bumps of his ribs and his heart beats under the angel’s warm palm. Cas stays there awhile, the constant touch leaving an annoying itch under Dean’s skin.

Dean forces himself to relax, ignoring the sick twist in his gut. In any other situation, he would’ve loved this, so he focuses on ignoring reality and playing his part. He knows Castiel is trying to convince him of their love, both verbally and physically, and as his muscles relax and the angel gives a satisfied smile he knows he’s one step closer to convincing Cas that it’s true.

His compliance is what Castiel is looking for. With his wish granted, the angel’s hands move down to his hips, one wrapping around the towel’s rim and teasing the fabric. His mouth quirks playfully before ripping it off in a single motion, leaving Dean completely exposed.

_ Play along,  _ Dean repeats to himself,  _ play the game, do your part. _

Castiel hums approvingly, taking him all in. He leans in for a soft kiss to his lips. Dean tenses for only a moment this time. He was getting better at controlling his reactions. Once the initial shock dies, he breathes deeply. This Cas smells of leather, leaves, and a tang that reminds Dean too much of blood. It’s not  _ bad _ though.

He eventually goes with him, moving in time with the angel’s motions, the tilt of his head, the persistence of his tongue. It’s slow, not nearly as harsh as the first night. It seems Cas wasn’t lying when he said he’d adhere to his desires if he was well behaved. As much as Dean liked getting rough sometimes, it was only when he knew he was safe, and when it was  _ consensual,  _ for that matter.

The only problem with being soft and sweet now is that it feels a lot more intimate. There’s the eye contact, more purposeful touches, all of which require Dean to put on more of a show and be more careful with his actions and his thoughts. He has to keep himself in check, mentally and physically. This is _not _his Cas, he has to remind himself. But for his own sake, he must keep thinking he is. It was damn confusing.

Finally, Castiel pulls them over to the bed, using his unnatural strength to lift him onto the mattress. He presses down, continuing their kiss, scarred hands tracing over Dean’s jaw. The angel does so without insistence, no rush to his movements as he sits in Dean’s lap, coat trailing behind him to cover Dean’s legs. It’s infuriatingly slow, Dean just wants this done. He nips at the angel’s lips insistently, urging him faster. Cas smiles, misreading his impatience as desire. He complies, rocking his hips and moving his lips’ attention to Dean’s neck. At least this way Dean doesn’t have to look at him.

It continues like this for a few minutes, and Dean’s grateful all he has to really do is sit there and grab at the back of the angel’s coat. But it is somehow more humiliating with him bare and Cas still fully clothed. The worst part is that Dean can feel just how much genuine care Castiel is giving him. He’s touching all the right spots, hitting all of Dean’s kinks, reading him like an open book that he somehow forgot to read the first few pages of. He’s doing everything that Dean likes, probably from what he saw from Dean’s mind, but he still didn’t understand that that’s not how love works. Try your darndest but if there’s no connection, it’s all for naught.

But there was, oh god there was a connection. Physically, this Castiel ticked off all the right boxes, but emotionally it was a complete clusterfuck. It’d be so easy to give in and live out a fantasy, that this was his Cas and he was finally getting what he always wanted. But that was a dream, a fake. He couldn’t blame himself for wanting some mental relief but he knew that wasn’t an option.

Cas returns to his mouth, kissing up his jaw to reach his lips. It’s more insistent this time, more heated, and making Dean breathe more heavily through his nose. He opens his eyes briefly, ghosting over the angel’s face. His brow was furrowed, pensive almost, Dean knew that meant something was going to be said. Another talk. Great.

The angel pulls back, still an inch from his face. Dean stares up with what he hopes is an interested expression and Castiel purses his lips.

“I know about the warding,” he says matter of factly, surprisingly positive.

So that’s what it’s gonna be today. Dean simply hums in acknowledgment, pressing up into another kiss. “I figured.” He feels numb to the risk of violence now. He pulls at the angel’s lip. “Are you angry?”

“No, just disappointed.” Another kiss.

“Because I’m protecting myself?”

“Because you feel you need to. I won’t hurt you anymore.” He strokes a hand down Dean’s cheek, combing fingers through his hair with the other.

Dean sighs, “I can’t be sure about that—I’m still your captive, you’re supposed to be torturing me.”

“But I’m not.” Castiel’s eyebrows raise, eyes going wide like a puppy’s. A very deadly puppy.

_ Yes, you are!  _ Dean wants to scream at him. “Not yet,” he says instead. Cas sighs, ignoring him to lick a trail down to Dean’s navel, tickling Dean’s abs and causing a rebellious twitch of his cock as he moved towards his groin. Dean gasps against his will, grip tightening on Cas’s bicep.

“How can I get you to trust me?” the angel breathes against his skin, almost a whisper.

Dean lets the question roll in his mind as Cas mouths at his inner thigh. If he gave the right answer he might find some more clues about this Cas.

“Tell me who you are.”

Castiel pauses, silent for a moment. He sits up, capturing Dean’s gaze as he considers the request. Dean swallows. “You know everything about me but I know nothing about you.” 

The angel worries his lip, eyes narrowed. Then he nods.

Cas starts to remove his attire, pulling at the arms of his coat. Dean watches cautiously but his movements don’t seem sensual, only practical. Once he’s down to his shirt, he hesitates briefly before undoing the buttons and sliding it off his shoulders.

Dean sits up, his eyes go to the scars again. Now that he can get a better look, the more horrendous they appear. Cas had only allowed him to see his scars once before, when he’d first dragged him here but after he seemed to become self-conscious of them, always keeping at least one layer of clothing between Dean and himself. Funny, Dean wouldn’t consider this Cas the shy type, but perhaps he simply didn’t want to draw attention to them, didn’t want any questions.

Cas lets him look now, watching Dean as the hunter’s eyes trail across his hands, face, and torso. Some scars go so far as to disappear beneath Cas’s belt. His entire body, littered with innumerable lacerations. It was even worse than Dean had originally thought, and he’d thought it was pretty bad.

His eyes widen, unable to speak as Cas lets him observe. A tentative hand reaches out but he stops. Dean’s gaze rises to meet the angel’s. He doesn’t object, so Dean reaches further until his fingers brush the risen skin. Curiously, he traces the long lines, imagining the knife in his hand trailing across the tan skin. Dean has tortured, is a master of it, though he hates to remember. He knows exactly what had to be done to make these. He imagines the screams, Cas’s screams, and closes his eyes at the thought, his heart too soft to handle the image.

A hand covers his. Dean opens his eyes to see Cas staring at him, a soft, warm gaze. The icy shards had momentarily disappeared. Dean can’t help but be captured by that stare, his heart wrenching. This Castiel was like a shadow of what his angel was, his feeling, his personality still there but… it was cloaked in darkness, drowning in a layer of misunderstanding and anger. But at times like this, his Cas seems to peek through, through the ever-present darkness, a stain on his soul.

Dean pushes down the yearning and sadness clawing at his chest. Quietly, they look at each other until Dean can’t take it anymore. “Who did this to you?”

Castiel releases his hold of Dean's hand, staring down at his chest. “I’m not sure…” his voice shakes with uncertainty.

Dean’s brow furrows. “How do you not remember?” He remembers very clearly who his torturers were. It’s not something you forget, though he wishes he could.

“I—” Cas’s face twists with confusion and by god, was he afraid? “I can’t remember. Whenever I think of a face, it goes fuzzy.”

“Do you even remember what happened?” Dean’s concern seems to elevate Cas’s anxiety more, the twitch that had been dormant returning to his fingers and beneath his eye.

“I—” Cas takes a deep breath, “I do. I remember that clearly. It was meant to be a lesson.”

“A lesson? For what?”

Cas thinks deeply, “It taught me what I know.” He looks to Dean. “It taught me how to do my job, it taught me who I was, what I was meant to be.” An odd smile crinkles his eyes. “Experience is the best teacher, that is why I know so much and excel in my craft. My teacher taught me well.”

Dean’s frown only deepens, his mind easily piecing together what could’ve happened. But he needs one last question to confirm his suspicion. “Cas,” he asks slowly, “What do you remember before Michael?” Cas frowns. Dean wets his lips, “ _ Who _ were you before Michael?”

The angel seems genuinely confused by the question. He hums. “Hm… I haven’t thought about that before.”

A sinking feeling drops in Dean’s gut. This Cas doesn’t remember anything. There are such gaping gaps in his memory and he’s never noticed. The pity slowing trickling in Dean’s heart grows to a small stream. The angel in front of him probably never wanted any of this several years ago, before the apocalypse. Dean knew enough about heaven’s torment, witnessed it with his very eyes with his Castiel to know… this wasn’t a decision Cas had made, it was one forced upon him. Maybe, once upon a time, this Cas had been just like his. Dean’s heart twists in his chest, imagining his Castiel fighting alone, lost, with no one to defend him as the enemy overcame him and twisted him into their own.

Dean knew Cas, inside and out… Cas loved humanity. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. One angel on the side of humans, in Dean’s world, he had won... but in this one, the outcome was far more tragic.

“Dean, are you alright?” Blue eyes stared at him, wide with concern. It was then Dean realizes the slight blurring of his vision. He sniffs and blinks, shaking his head.

A hand cups his face, a thumb stroking his cheek. Cas makes a soft hushing sound, rubbing a hand up and down his side in comfort. “Why are you sad?”

_ They did this to you. Michael did this to you,  _ Dean’s thoughts upset him further.  _ This isn’t the real you. _

“You weren’t always like this were you?” he laughs sadly. He surprises himself, leaning into Cas’s touch, the warmth of it comforting. Cas doesn’t answer, simply staring blankly, as if the words don’t even register in his mind. But he continues to comfort Dean with hands and voice.

It’s then that Dean realizes his mistake, the consequence of his prying.  _ No, no, no,  _ he begs his heart to stop but it’s too late.

“You  _ are  _ my Cas,” Dean says brokenly.

Cas smiles, not the twisted thing it used to be, a genuine show of happiness. “I knew you’d understand.” His voice is thick with emotion.

Dean finds himself grabbing onto his shoulders, burying his face into his neck. The angel’s arms don’t hesitate to wrap around him, holding him to his chest.

_ I want Cas,  _ his heart cries,  _ I want him, I want him, I want him. _

_ Even if it isn’t the right Cas?  _ His mind replies.

_ As long as it’s Cas, it’s always right. _

His battle, his turmoil mounts but is quickly soothed by the angel’s voice.

“ _ Tol I ascha en olapireta… Ol zir zomdv arezodi. _ ”

Same face, same voice, same soul, just with more scars. It couldn’t be right... this shouldn’t be right.

Dean finds himself praying again, he doesn’t care if Cas hears.  _ Cas, please. Save me, I’m falling, I can’t stop it. Help me.  _ He grips the angel’s shoulders tighter. He must resist this temptation.  _ I need you and I’ve been without you for so long. I can’t help it anymore. Save me from you before it’s too late. _


	4. Chapter 4

Dean feels numb. His mind, his body, everything. He’d broken down yesterday, he knew that. It just wasn’t something he expected.

Last night, he and Cas hadn’t finished what the angel started. He laid them down, hugged Dean to his chest and let him fall asleep. It was the kindest Cas had ever been to him and the calmest Dean had felt in weeks.

It was… strange. Logically, it didn’t make sense. Dean knew that Castiel had tortured him, had recent, clear memories of it and yet his body calmed in his presence.

_ It’s not right, it’s not right!  _ He keeps reminding himself.  _ You’re tricking yourself, you son of a bitch! _

The human brain was all sorts of confusing. Why couldn’t he keep control of his own being? Wasn’t that the point of having a conscious? Dean hadn’t learned much psychology in school but he knew enough. Humans are social beings. They need contact, connection. If isolated for too long the brain conveniently provides alternative socialization like talking to yourself or inanimate objects—or your own captor.

Dean had been alone with Cas as his only communication for weeks. That had to be the reason, nothing else. The angel being the spitting image of his best friend probably made it easier for his mind to accept.

_ Stupid, stupid, STUPID!  _ He yells at himself.  _ You need to kill him, not pity him! His past is no excuse for his actions! _

But it isn’t that simple. Emotions are fickle things and for once Dean understands why angels find them so atrocious. They make deciding things so much harder, but they are what keeps you human.

Dean keeps his face in his hands, letting the quiet of the room calm him. Cas had left hours ago with a soft kiss to his forehead, leaving him alone with his thoughts. It definitely wasn’t pleasant, and there was no alcohol for Dean to drown himself in. God, he’ll need all the whiskey when he gets back.

_ You won’t get back if you’re stuck here with  _ ** _him_ ** , his brain helpfully supplies.

Even now, he feels his heart yearning to see him again. He wants Cas so fucking much. He’s shoved it down for so long and now it all exploded out in one big bang.

_ Goddamit Winchester, you can’t hold it together a couple more fucking days? _

He had to escape soon. He was sure of it, for his heart’s and sanity’s sake. Dean wonders what his Cas must be thinking right now, how he was feeling… He wants to explain himself, tell him why. He deserves that and more.

Dean sighs. First, he’s got to stick to the plan. At least he’s finally completed the first and most difficult step: convincing Cas he was in love with him. Dean saw it in the angel’s eyes, his smile and soft touches, he was a goner. Now he had to find a way to escape and time it correctly. He had the angel trap ready to blast Cas away—

No, no. He swore he’d kill the bastard, make him pay for what he’s done. If Dean lets him live, the angel will hunt him down for sure, or worse, remind Dean of the twisted desire he’d woven into his chest.

Dean lets his arms wrap around his sides, hugging himself.  _ He did this to me,  _ he reminds himself, gritting his teeth,  _ Not me, HIM! _

He punches the bed.  _ I don’t care who he was, he’s this now! A monster! _ Dean imagines a blade in his hand, the blood swelling onto his clothes as the life bleeds from Cas’s eyes.

Bile rises in his throat.

He remembers Cas lying still, the souls of Purgatory gone. Remembers himself, blood-hungry as he brought the angel blade down toward Cas, laid on the bunker floor. And then Lucifer’s blade piercing Cas’s chest, his soul crying out as a part of Dean died with him.

The memories flash before him like a series of gunshots, each piercing him deeper than the last, killing the anger inside him and ripping open fresh wounds. He bites his lip, forcing the quivering to stop. He loves Cas. Every painful memory reminds him of how much he cares.

He can’t watch Cas die, not again. But to go back to  _ his _ Cas, it must be done.

Dean took a shaky breath. He never thought this would be so hard. It  _ wasn’t  _ Cas, at least not his. He might’ve been once—but in this universe, they’d never had a chance. He saw glimpses of his angel in this one, parts of him were still there, but it wasn’t enough. It  _ can’t  _ be enough.

He must do what he’s always done: forget, suppress everything so he can do his job, go back to his family.  _ One last time,  _ he promises himself, he must hurt Cas one last time before he can tell him everything.

Dean breathes deeply through his nose, finally forcing himself to rise off the bed and don his clothes.  _ It’s all for you Cas,  _ he vows as he pulls the shirt over his head,  _ You’ve always fought to come back to me, it’s time for me to fight my way back to you. _

_________________

The next step is for Dean to figure out how to escape. He’s already tested the planks nailed to the windows and found them too sturdy to budge. There are no tools in sight, which means the windows aren’t an option. That leaves the only other choice: the front door. This provides many problems and even higher risks. First, Dean doesn’t know where the other angels are or if there are more waiting outside, and second, how is he going to find and sneak both Charlie and Ketch out—if they are still alive? He’s Winchester’ed his way out of things before, but he’s feeling less cocky than usual. Preparation is key. And preparation meant going outside of the room.

It isn’t that Dean hadn’t thought of picking the lock before, it was just that he didn’t want to risk losing the strange trust he’d built up with Cas if things went sideways. But now that the trust was in place, he could dare to push their boundaries, and Cas might be more inclined to forgive him—he hoped.

He had no lock pick or pin of any kind, Dean knew this early on but that didn’t mean he couldn’t pick the lock some other way. With years of experience, Dean knows how to be creative. This is a simple doorknob lock, something he can certainly kick down if he tried, but he had to be more discreet. Thankfully, he knows just what to do. Dean makes his way to the bathroom, bending down to open the cabinet below the sink. Bingo.

When Cas comes to feed Dean, he brings a ceramic plate and bowl, but the water often comes with a simple plastic cup. Dean keeps a trash of sorts under the sink. When Cas asked about the pile Dean said as much and the angel never questioned it again.

Dean removes one of the cups, smiling to himself. He stands and uses the sharp edge of the peeling counter to cut the lip of the plastic. Then, using his hands, he tears the rest of it down the middle, ripping one side in half and removing the bottom to create an almost flat sheet of plastic. And that’s all he needs.

He approaches the hallway door, heart beating faster in his chest. Once he was out he’d need to move as fast as possible to explore his surroundings without getting caught. Carefully, hoping there is no one nearby to hear the noise, Dean slides the plastic sheet between the crack of the door right above the lock. Lip between his teeth, Dean pushes the plastic, jiggling it downwards until he feels it begin to slide between the lock and the door. He gives it a little more pressure and the plastic slides under the lock with ease, the door clicking open.

“Yes!” Dean silently congratulates himself. “Showtime.”

Dean pulls the door open, listening for any footsteps. Once he’s confident of the silence, he pokes his head out, looking down both sides of the hall. To his left, he sees the light of the main room illuminating the dusty floor. On each side of the hall are three doors, Dean being in the furthest room down on his side. Six rooms, five possible locations for Charlie, Ketch, and the angels. On each door is painted the same sigil. It’s obviously not for locking the doors so Dean guesses it must be for noise, as the hallway is eerily silent. It would make sense if they didn’t want to be found.

Dean scans the hallway for any indication of use. The doors themselves all look the same, so he looks to the floor. There is a small, dried blood trail to the first and second doors opposite Dean, but the more Dean looks the more he sees that all the doors share that pattern, years and years of built-up blood and scratches. Alright, so he has to look for something that’s more recent.

Dean scrutinizes the floor in front of his door and finds that it’s particularly void of dust, brushed to the side with several lines of footsteps breaking up the dirt further out. It would be the same for whatever doors the angels used most, which hopefully had Charlie and Ketch behind them.

He looks in front of the other doors again. He has to squint but eventually, Dean sees the same pattern in the door across and left of him, the first door down the hall. That had to be it.

Glancing one last time towards the end of the hall, Dean sneaks out, staying close to his side to hide him from the room’s view. In a few quick steps, Dean is in front of the door. He hesitates for a moment, swallowing down his nervousness as he peeks around the corner, confirming there are no angels insight. Dean only pauses a second more before he gets to work. He puts his face to the crack of the door, one eye peering through. Dean spies the back of a chair, the same metal ones he’d been tied to, and above the chair he spots a splash of red. He sucks in a breath. Charlie.

There are no angels that he can see, so he slides the plastic once more through the door and pushes down. Again, it opens without resistance and he pulls the door open.

He stands in the doorway, an unexpected smile pulling his face and nearly forcing tears to his eyes. Ketch is the first to see him, staring wide-eyed and speechless. Dean walks in, closing the door behind him to stand in between the two of them, both tied facing each other.

Charlie is the first to speak. “Dean!” she exclaims. They both look like shit. Blood and bruises make their faces almost unrecognizable. But they were alive and for the first time in a while, Dean feels overwhelmed with joy.

“You’re alive!?” Ketch finally sputters. Both stare at him with disbelief. “And not a scratch on you.” Dean’s smile falters. If only they knew.

His face only falls for a second before he forces a smile back to his lips. “Hey guys, yes I’m alive— and thank god you guys are too. Are you okay?”

Charlie laughs, “What does it look like? My eye is the size of a melon.” Dean huffs, he’ll take that as a good sign. At least she still has a sense of humor.

“What’d they do to you?” Dean asks.

“Nevermind that,” Ketch quips, “Why the hell are you here?”

Dean sobers up, trying to return to the seriousness of the situation. “I’ve got a plan to get us out of here.”

Ketch scoffs, “So this isn’t the rescue?”

Dean shakes his head, “No, I just needed to know where you were. If we leave now they’d hunt us down no problem. We have no idea where we are or how far we are from camp but judging how no one’s found us yet, I’m guessing we’re pretty far. We need to kill these suckers before we go anywhere.”

Ketch raises his eyebrows. “And you know how we can get weapons to kill angels? Pretty sure they took everything we have. Only they have angel blades and we can’t exactly take one from them.”

Dean’s brow furrows, his lips pursing. “I’ll get us a blade.”

“How?” Charlie asks, “You can’t overpower them and they’re not just gonna hand them over.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “I’ll get one just trust me.”

“Dean…” Ketch’s voice softens to his surprise. He turns and catches the man’s concerned gaze. A knowing look sits in his eyes and Dean forces his own away only to find Charlie doing the same. Silence falls and Dean feels the air grow heavy around him. A flood of shame fills him and his face burns red.

“What?” he grits his teeth. “What is it?”

Charlie and Ketch look to each other. A silent conversation passing between them. “We’ve… “ Charlie starts, words cautious, “We’ve heard the other angels talking… about this other Cas and…” She pauses, eyes wide with pity, adding to Dean’s mounting frustration. “We know what he’s doing—”

Dean growls, cutting her off. “It doesn’t matter.” His hands ball into fists. “It doesn’t  _ matter  _ what’s happened to me! We just need to get out and I don’t need to talk about this right now so please, save the pity party for later.” 

They stare silently, debating whether to push the subject. They simply nod, heads bowed.

“Alright,” Ketch finally responds. “Then how will you get the blade from him?”

Dean swallows. “I’ll distract him… get the blade from his sleeve then kill him.”

More silence. Dean’s words echo back to him and the finality of what he’s said begins to weigh down on his shoulders, the breath squeezed from his chest.

They see his hesitation. “And you’ll be able to do that?” Ketch inquires with a sympathetic tone. Ketch knows Dean has the same killer instinct he has, the same bloodlust. But Dean reigns himself back with more morals than Ketch ever has. Ketch can see the conflict behind his eyes, knows his predicament.

Dean opens his mouth, forcing himself to say the words, to make them true. “Yes… I will kill him. He’s  _ not  _ Cas.” He says it more to himself than to them. By the look in their eyes, it seems that the connection between him and Cas is well known, even to this Charlie, who hadn’t known him nearly as long.

“Good,” Ketch says slowly, “I’m sure your angel will be very happy to have you back.”

Dean nods tersely, face tight.

“You should go before—”

The knob of the door begins to turn. All their heads snap in its direction and Dean’s heart jumps to his throat. They all look around wildly, the room is filled with mostly piles of junk except for—

“The shelf Dean!” Charlie whispers loudly, “Get behind the shelf!”

Dean doesn’t hesitate and scrambles over to the other side of the room. He dives behind a set of boxes blocking the very corner of the room, sandwiching him between the shelf pressed to the wall to his left and the pile of junk. He slides down almost to the floor, trying to hide as much of himself as possible.

The door swings open and Dean freezes, breath sounding too loud to his ears. Chatter accompanies the footsteps as the two angels from before enter.

“Can you believe this?” One of them sneers. “We have to do this  _ again _ !” The angels ignore the humans completely, slamming the door shut with obvious anger. “Why can’t Castiel just let us kill them already. I’m bored, we’re not going to get any more information out of them anyway.”

The other angel snorts. “He doesn’t want to upset his Winchester whore.” They snicker to themselves and Dean’s blood runs cold.

“I still can’t see why Michael puts up with his monotonous routine. This happens every time!”

“It’s because our lord likes having a pet to beat around. It sets an example and he’s still the best interrogator there is. Michael finds value in that.”

Dean can hear the eye roll. 

“He’s defecting quicker now… sooner or later he’ll have to be put down. He can’t keep having his memory wiped forever.”

One sighs. “As hard as Michael tries he can’t destroy Castiel’s sympathy altogether. He was born broken, poor _ ialpor upaah _ was always with the humans. It’s disgusting really.”

The other hums in agreement, “Well at least we don’t have to put up with it for much longer after this.” A smile twists the angel’s face. “Michael finally gave the order. We get to drag him back tomorrow,  _ and  _ his human. With his true vessel, Michael will get rid of the rest of the scum. Finally, some peace on earth.” The angel sighs with relief. “And maybe then we can be rid of our dear commander.”

The angels finally turn their attention to the humans tied to their chairs. “In the meantime,” one of them says, stepping in front of Charlie, “ I guess we’ll have to keep ourselves occupied.”

Charlie keeps her head high, lips sealed and eyes glued to the angel’s face. 

“Hm,” the angel frowns, “What is it girl? Are you hiding something from me again? You know what I said about hiding.” He slaps her across the face, almost tipping the chair over with the blow. Charlie recovers quickly, blinking rapidly and keeping her mouth shut. “Girl,” he warns in a dangerous tone, “Must I take it from you again?” Charlie’s silence persists, the other angel simply watching the exchange with disinterest. The angel sighs. “Alright then.” He presses his fingers to her temples.

Dean’s heart stops. He knew exactly what the bastard was doing. His position was the same as Cas’s when he’d dug into his memories. Charlie couldn’t protect him forever. It’d only be a matter of seconds before the angels found out he was there. He had to act first.

Dean rises carefully into a squatting position as the screaming starts, shifting to better position himself. He has no idea if this will work but the element of surprise is all he has. His gaze flicks between both angels before he finally decides on his target. Bunching his legs, Dean places a hand on top of the boxes and then, he leaps.

Vaulting over the boxes, Dean rams into the angel torturing Charlie, throwing him to the ground. The other angel yells in surprise as Dean punches him in the face, flinching back. Dean grabs for his sleeve where the angel blade would be but is stopped short by a yank to his leg. He crashes to the ground, winded. He scrambles to get up but finds the hand still on his leg. He kicks behind him, satisfied when he feels his foot connect with bone. Dean stands, launching himself at the still upright angel. He’s grabbed by the neck, held at arm's length. Shit.

Behind him, he hears the other angel cursing profusely. Then he’s grabbed by the back of his shirt and flung to the other side of the room. He crashes into the shelf, head cracking against the dull wood. Before he can even breath a hand is at his throat again pulling him up and dangling him in the air.

“Aw, there you are, you little slut.” Dean barely registers his hands clawing at the arm holding him as his vision swims dangerously. “You’ll pay for that you filthy whore! I’ll show you what it really means to get fucked!”

“Sariel, no!” The other angel’s warning fades away as Dean is dragged back out into the hall and thrown to the ground. Immediately a foot comes down hard on Dean’s chest, crushing any remaining air out of his lungs. Again and again, the foot smashes his ribs until Dean screams as a loud crack splinters his side. One more kick and blood gurgles up from Dean’s throat. His screams become muffled by spurts of red. Dean’s world sways as the angel stands above him, smiling wickedly. “There, finally a proper beating for you. He’s been too kind to you. I’d have ripped off your limbs and fucked you as you screamed.”

“Sariel, stop!” The other angel stares at his companion, mortified, “Castiel said—”

A cold darkness suddenly fills the room, an icy silence slowing time to a halt. Dean’s eyes widen.

A dark form appears behind Sariel, the angel’s face paling instantly.

A deep, gravelly voice hisses through the dark, rage making the air shiver, “I said…” Sariel turns slowly to face the glowing blue eyes. “He is  _ mine _ .”

A flash of black and time speeds up again, Castiel’s blade slicing through the air. A scream ravages Dean’s ears as grace bleeds out from a long cut across Sariel’s chest, the angel desperately clutching at the wound, trying to hold himself together.

The angel blabbers endlessly, shaking with fear and pain, “It wasn’t me! It wasn’t my fault! He—”

“ _ QUIET!!!”  _ Castiel roars, “YOU DO NOT TOUCH HIM!” He slams a boot down on the angel’s leg, snapping the bone. The screaming intensifies.

“HE. IS.  _ MINE!”  _ With each word, another bone snaps under Cas’s boot. Sariel lies shaking on the ground, breath spent. He can only wheeze pitifully.

Anger lining the angel’s face, Cas looms over his subordinate. He crouches down, leaning close enough to hiss into the angel’s face. His voice grows silent, the ice in his eyes and voice confirming the utter truth of his words. “If you hurt him again, I will snap your wings and rip the flesh from your bones, am I clear?”

Sariel averts his gaze as he continues to wheeze. Castiel stares mercilessly, not a single muscle moving on his face. He grabs the angel’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Sariel’s eyes are wide with fear. He nods quickly.

Castiel holds him a moment longer, eyes terrifying and deadly. He throws Sariel to the side, stepping over him to walk towards Dean.

The other angel quickly rushes over, grabbing his companion and dragging him down the hall. The outside door flings open as he drags Sariel through. The door slams and there is silence.

Dean lays in shock, unable to move or breath at the violence he just witnessed. He’s shaking and not just from pain. Castiel stands over him, looking down with anger still etched on his face. Dean’s stomach knots, instinctively cowering closer to the floor, trying to make himself smaller.

The angel says nothing as he kneels down, reaching a hand to Dean’s face. Dean flinches at the touch, biting back a whimper. “Are… ” He finally meets Cas’s gaze. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Castiel takes a deep breath through his nose, face softening slightly. Grace flows under Dean’s skin, mending the bones and flesh broken from the trauma.

“No, I will not hurt you,” Cas says. There’s an edge to his voice but Dean’s just grateful he’s never been on the receiving end of what just occurred.

Cas offers his hand and Dean hesitantly takes it, letting the angel pull him to his feet. Did he know that Dean escaped, did he care? What if he’s lying and planning even worse torment for him?

The question is never answered as Cas clasps Dean’s hand tight, his brows knit and jaw clenched. He starts back down to their room, shoulders tense. Dean knows what this means.

“Wait—” Dean tries to pull back, to slow their steps. “Please not now, let me recover.” Cas stares for a second, the ice still in his gaze.

He huffs, “You’ll feel better after, you’ll be fine.”

Cas was angry. Cas was  _ really  _ angry. Dean didn’t know if it was at him but it didn’t seem to matter, Castiel wants to take it out on something.

“Cas, please.” Dean hates to beg.

The angel yanks him onward, flinging open the door and dragging Dean inside. It feels too much like the first night, Dean’s brain starts to fill with panic. Hadn’t they changed? Hadn’t  _ Cas  _ changed?

Maybe not as much as he’d come to believe. Dean remembers the night before. His heart wrenches as that memory seems to fade like a far off dream. That had been a fantasy. But _ this  _ was the real Castiel and it’s something he should never forget.

Dean continues to squirm in Cas’s grip and finally, the angel turns on him, face set in stone. 

“If you love me, you’ll let me do this. Do you love me?”

And there was the manipulation. Dean has to use it to his advantage. There really is no choice. Dean stares at the bed, eyes wide. He glances back at Cas, who waits impatiently. He swallows the lump in his throat. “Yes.” His voice cracks, something that fills him with shame.

He lets Castiel rip off his shirt, fingers rough and bruising as they search for his belt. The angel bites at his throat, a hand in his hair preventing him from pulling away. Cas undoes his belt with one hand, pulling it down and once again leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Dean takes a deep breath, ignoring his desire to resist and instead becomes pliant, bending under the angel’s hands.

Thoughtlessly, he reaches out for the buttons of Cas’s shirt. The angel grabs his wrist, snapping Dean out of his daze. They freeze, Cas’s expression hard and defensive. The fear trickles back down his neck.

Dean’s mouth goes dry, his voice barely audible. “L-Let me see you. I want to see you too.”

Cas’s brow furrows, pausing for a moment before slowly releasing Dean’s wrist. Dean tentatively begins undoing the angel’s shirt, Cas ignoring the movement and forcing himself to Dean’s lips, squishing Dean’s arms between him. It was harsh, animalistic.

As soon as Dean undid the last button, Castiel ripped off his coat, vest, and shirt all at once, throwing them to the floor. The motion startles Dean and he flinches. Cas doesn’t seem to notice.

Dean is pushed to the bed, pressed down into the mattress, Cas climbing on top so fast Dean struggles to catch up and grab at Cas’s back. He tries to reciprocate, kissing back with the same viciousness, but still, he can’t seem to keep up.

The angel reaches down, quickly unbuckles and pulls down his pants. He growls into Dean’s skin, biting and drawing blood from his lip. “How dare he touch you. You are mine and mine alone.” He grabs at Dean’s ass, pressing Dean against his growing cock.

Dean gasps sharply as fingers suddenly push into him without warning. “Cas—wait, you need to—” He cries out as a third finger enters him far too quickly, any pleasure quickly turning to pain.

Castiel possessively latches onto his neck, sucking a mark there as he continues to work Dean open. “Cas stop, it hurts,” Dean tries to say, but Cas is past the point of listening.

“Mine,” he growls, withdrawing his fingers. Dean feels the head of his dick take their place and he whimpers despite himself. Usually, the angel would make sure he was good and ready or at least numb the pain with his grace, but it all seems to be forgotten now.

Castiel presses in and Dean hears himself scream. The angel doesn’t stop until they’re flush together, tears coming to Dean’s eyes from the burning and the hurt. He thought Cas would never do this again. He thought they were past this.

Shaking, tears wetting his cheeks, Dean forces himself to wrap his legs around the angel’s back and hook his arms around his neck. Castiel doesn’t look at him. He simply huffs against Dean’s shoulder and braces his arms on either side of Dean’s head.

He begins moving, a steadily increasing pace as Dean squeezes his eyes shut, as much as he tries his tears won’t stop. His heart and body aches.

Dean was a fool. To think this Cas had learned, to think he would ever return to who he once was. He was born of violence and pain so pain and violence he would give.

The ordeal went on and on, in and out, and Dean just lay there, gripping Castiel’s shoulders, wishing they belonged to the angel he should’ve been with long ago. This was it, he couldn’t last much longer.

He’d heard what the other angels had said, what was happening to him had happened to many others before. It was sad, that Cas had been lowered to this against his will, but he couldn’t do this to anyone anymore. Dean wouldn’t let this happen to anyone else ever again. He grips Cas’s shoulders tighter, his heart squeezing just as tight.

_ I’m sorry this happened to you.  _ His face crumbles against Cas’s shoulder,  _ This isn’t what you would’ve wanted. I’ll bring you peace, don’t worry. I’m sorry it took me so long to do so. _

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow would be the last chance he had to set things right before the angels came to take them away. Cas didn’t know and didn’t need to know, what had all been done to him. It would be over soon, for him and for everyone.

_ Then I can go home _ , Dean thinks with a sad smile.  _ Then I can be with you as I was always meant to be. _

Dean lets Cas do what he wants, hurting him with every thrust, and when the deed is done he lays with him. Might as well give him one more night of comfort, for it would be the last he ever sees.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day is filled with anxiety and dread. Dean’s brain buzzes as he counts the hours going by. This wait seems longer than any he’d ever experienced before. Usually, in such dire circumstances, he was forced to move fast; push himself to save time. But now, now all he can do is wait. There is nothing to busy his anxious mind.

He’d hoped that Castiel would still be with him when he woke up, so he could get this over with quickly and cut short this suffering. But luck isn’t on his side and he woke up to a cold and empty bed.

Waiting. Hours upon hours, wringing his hands as he tries to think exactly how to go about this. It is simple really, the hardest part would be keeping Cas oblivious. He knows from the past it isn’t particularly tricky, but he still fears that somehow Cas would know, that maybe he trusts Dean less after last night’s encounter. There’s no way of knowing until Dean tries.

As the day passes, Dean worries that perhaps the other angels had already captured Cas and would come get him soon. If they knew Dean had heard, would they change their timing? But Dean forces his mind to quiet, he’ll have to roll with the punches. It’s no use worrying about what he can’t plan for. He needs to be focused.

_ I’m going to kill Cas, _ he repeats to himself, getting himself used to the idea. _ It’s not your Cas. That version of him died in this one long ago. Yours is still out there, waiting for you. _

Perhaps it was selfish, to damn this Cas in order to return to his own. But what other choice did he have? Stay here? Let him go? No.

The angel had grown into a monster. That wasn’t Dean’s fault, though it wasn’t Cas’s either. But Dean was a hunter. His job first and foremost was to kill monsters, to keep them from hurting anybody else. It would hurt like hell but that was the price he paid for doing what’s right.

_ When this is done you can forget all about it, _ he comforts himself. _ You can bury it so deep that you forget it’s there. _

It never works that way, but Dean likes to think it does.

Soon. Soon he’ll see Sammy again, and mom, and Cas, the one he truly needs. He closes his eyes, imagining them in his mind, welcoming him with open arms. They’re warm and soothing, smothering him with comfort. And he lays down his head on Cas’s shoulder, this time with no forced action, no bitter hatred woven in his heart. True peace. True love.

All he could ever want.

Dean hears the click of the knob turning open. He takes a deep breath, letting his muscles relax and clears his mind. It is time.

He looks up as Castiel enters. The angel seems tense, aggravated, which Dean finds reasonable if he’s been with his fellow angels that he almost killed last night. It’s a good mindset for him to be in, at least for Dean. He swallows down his last doubts and stands slowly, watching as Cas walks towards him, face fallen.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” He tilts his head to seem more genuine.

The angel huffs, eyes not yet finding his. “They don’t understand. They don’t understand how much you mean to me.”

His heart wrenches but he forces it from his thoughts. “You told them? About us?” He’s quiet, voice comforting and soft. It does the trick and Cas’s shoulders slump, his sad gaze rising to meet his.

“No,” Cas sighs. “They wouldn’t understand, it’s forbidden. They don’t know why I’ve interrogated you for so long. Usually, I’ve long finished by now. They’re beginning to suspect something.”

_ You poor fool _ , Dean thinks, _ They’ve always known. _

“What are you gonna do?” Dean asks, and he is curious. How did Cas expect this would end? They would run off and live happily ever after?

The angel frowns, “I don’t know…” He sounds truly distressed. “I have to think, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” It’s the most honest Dean has heard Cas be with him other than the night with his scars. Maybe it was progress, given more time Cas could learn from his mistakes. But they didn’t have time, and Dean’s sure Cas had done this exact thing many times before. As soon as he starts to think clearly again, freedom is ripped from his grasp and he’s set back to start again, a maddening loop.

_ I’ll set you free, don’t worry. _

Dean tentatively put a hand on the angel’s shoulder, sliding down to grab his hand lightly. “That’s alright… you don’t have to think about it right now.” Castiel stares down at their hands in surprise, admiring the small circles Dean makes with his thumb over his scars.

Then Dean does something he rarely ever did. He leans forward, lightly planting a kiss on his cheek. Cas gasps and stares at him, confused. Dean has never reciprocated to such an extent. Up until now, it had always been Cas to initiate any contact.

“I never thanked you last night,” Dean says quietly, still rubbing the angel’s hand and looking him square in the eye, almost brushing nose to nose. “For saving me. For claiming me.” He whispers the last words before pressing a soft kiss to his lips and drawing back, gauging his reaction.

Cas seems frozen, his eyes wide and filled with a plethora of emotions.

“Let me thank you.” Dean smiles at him. “Properly.”

Castiel’s gaze melts, a rare warmth filling them, ending with a shy smile. It’s so genuine, so soft that Dean pauses for a moment in awe. He looks truly happy, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

_ And you’re about to take it away, _Dean swallows down the guilt building in his gut.

“I…” Cas looks down for a moment, a coy motion before smiling brightly up at him, “I’d like that.”

Dean forces a smile back before leaning forward, kissing him again, hotter and longer than before. Cas melts into it, completely giving in to Dean’s movements. Dean ends the kiss with a soft pull to the angel’s lip, humming as he opens his eyes. Castiel’s pupils are blown wide and he simply stares, still in shock. Dean takes advantage, dragging Cas by his hands over to the bed and coaxing him to lean back onto it.

“My turn,” he says as Cas willingly lays down, eyes never leaving Dean’s as Dean stands back and lifts his shirt over his shoulders, flexing as he finally throws it to the floor. He quickly slides off his pants and boxers and climbs on top of him, watching as the angel lets him move as he wishes. It’s freeing to finally not be the one trapped under him anymore. He flashes a cocky grin, then leans down and sucks at Cas’s adam's apple. The angel sighs, laying his head back on the pillow and running his hands through Dean’s hair.

Dean rolls his hips, earning him a sharp gasp. “Why?” Cas breathes heavily, “Why now?”

He rolls his hips again and this time he feels Cas tense, the angel’s fingers tightening in his hair. “Because,” Dean says as he captures his lips once more. “If I’m yours, then your mine.” Castiel shivers, his words obviously effective.

He continues, dry humping until the angel is moaning into his neck. Dean shifts his eyes slightly, keeping up his pace as he eyes Castiel’s coat sleeve. He stares at it for a while, too long, his heart is pounding in his chest and not just from the stimulation.

“Come on,” Cas pants. “More.” Dean bites his lip, he couldn’t stall anymore, he had to do this now.

“Alright, alright,” he shuts his eyes one last time and slows to a stop. He scootches downward, sitting up to get both hands on Cas’s zipper and buckle. His hands are shaky as he undoes the pants. He tries breathing carefully through his nose, keeping his calm demeanor.

“You tease.” Cas chuckles after Dean fails to undo his belt for a second time. Dean chuckles with him, hiding his mounting nervousness.

Finally, Dean manages to pull his pants down. Dean doesn’t think he could go any further than that. Hurriedly, Dean bends down and traps Cas’s mouth with his own. Cas yells in surprise but it’s soon drowned out and forgotten as Dean presses them closer together. Dean keeps his eyes open as Cas’s lay closed. He has one hand on Cas’s chest and the other one free.

He kisses harder, diving in with his tongue and using every technique he’s ever learned in his life to keep the angel distracted. It works perfectly.

Dean snakes one hand towards the angel’s sleeve. He starts pushing his hand into it, brushing against the angel’s skin but Cas seems to think of it as simply more touching. He keeps going, sweat beading on his forehead as he desperately hopes for the angel to stay oblivious.

After an eternity of lips and fingers brushing, Dean feels the cold metal of the angel blade against his hand. One chance, he can’t go back.

He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls away from Cas. The angel blinks at him, confused. “Dean what—”

Before Castiel realizes it, Dean pulls the angel blade from his sleeve and presses it against his throat.

Cas doesn’t move. He simply sits there, stunned.

Dean stares down at him, eyes wide and arms shaking. He did it, by god he did it. They sit there, staring without screaming or struggle, both frozen in shock.

They both breathe heavily, Dean’s hand tightens around the blade as a rush of satisfaction flows through him.

Castiel’s reaction is delayed, Dean watches as his mind works furiously to catch up with the situation. When it does, his eyes fall, eyebrows raised as hurt fills his gaze.

“Dean?” he asks quietly.

Dean doesn’t know what to say. The angel gaze burns into him, melting his heart as the question forms on his face. _ Why? _

“I thought…” Castiel sounds lost. “I thought you—”

“This isn’t love you asshole!” Dean finds himself yelling, his rage building as the power of being in control returns to him: the adrenaline, the righteous judgment he has to give.

He shakes harder, anger coursing through him, blinding him. This angel wouldn’t understand what love is, he’d never know what he did wrong and that was the _ problem _, one that was unmendable.

He finds himself snarling down at Cas. Maybe he can finally make him feel how Dean has all this time. “_ You _don’t know what love is.” His words are filled with venom and he feels Cas flinch under them. For once, Cas seems speechless. His mouth hangs open but he can’t speak.

More words fill Dean’s mouth, unbidden by him but they come out all the same. All this time, all this rage, all this hurt. “Love is when you care about someone and they make you happy and you want them to be happy!” He didn’t know why his voice wavered or why he was explaining this to him, but it seemed important, like it was an explanation, a reason to do what he had to. “Love hurts.” His vision starts to blur as his voice cracks. “And it sucks sometimes. Sometimes the people you love don’t love you back.” Dean took a heavy, shaky breath. Cas was watching him like his words were salvation. “And you let them go…” The anger dissipates as his voice softens. “You let them go because you love them…”

Something clicks behind Castiel’s eyes and then—there are tears.

It catches Dean off guard to see the angel cry. His angel never cried, let alone his evil counterpart. They start as small ponds building in the corners of his eyes and then they become waterfalls, pouring over the edge of deep, hurt blue to flow unrestrained down his cheeks. It’s quiet, no loud sobs, no begging or pleading, just pure pain, quivering on his lips and bleeding from his eyes.

Dean can’t help the way his heart wrenches and his hand wavers. As if of its own accord, his hand brushes away the tears on his cheeks, his face crumbling to see such sadness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and he means it. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. You never wanted this, you never deserved this… But I have to Cas, I have to. Please understand.”

The smallest whimper escapes Cas’s lips, “I just wanted—” His voice is so quiet, “I just wanted to feel…”

“I know…” Dean brushes his cheek again and to his surprise he leans down, pressing a final kiss to his forehead. “I know.”

Dean stays there, closing his eyes with his forehead pressed against the angel’s. One last deep breath and he presses the blade harder to Cas’s throat. He feels Castiel tense under him, a single soft gasp escaping him as Dean readies himself.

“This is better, for the both of us.”

Refusing to stare into Cas’s eyes, Dean covers a hand over the angel’s mouth and pulls the blade back, ready to plunge it into his chest.

Dean freezes as he hovers there, feeling the angel’s quivering form below him. One last hesitation. But it had to be done.

Dean brings the weapon down. His hand seems to move in slow motion, the blade slicing through the air as it nears its target, inch by inch. The tip pierces through the angel’s coat, cutting through the fabric like butter. One layer then the next then blood peaks through and begins to well as the blade digs deeper.

An explosion shakes the room on its hinges, erupting in a flash of light and energy, blasting Dean off the bed and onto the floor. He lays there, stunned and winded as he blinks to try and gain back his vision. The light gradually fades as does the ringing in his ears. As the shape of the room finally becomes clear again, his eyes go to the bed.

To his utter confusion, he sees Castiel, upright on the bed. No burned wings, no ash hanging in the air. Then what caused the explosion? Dean follows the angel's eyes gaze to the doorway and feels his stomach sink. His eyes go wide as he stares and realizes what’s happening.

The other angels stand in the doorway, or where the door used to be. A burnt hole takes its place. They walk in, Sariel heading straight for Dean while the other goes for Castiel who still lies on the bed. Too late.

Dean’s instincts start to kick in. He looks down and sees the angel blade still in his hand, the tip slightly reddened. He hides it behind his back.

Sariel smiles down at him, eager to get this fight started. “Oh Castiel,” he calls over his shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt you and your toy, but playtimes over.”

“What’s going on? What are you doing?!” Dean hears Castiel cry out. The poor angel must be a complete mess at the moment.

“How many times do we have to do this, commander?” Sariel says mockingly. “You’ve deviated again, sooo we have to bring you back to Michael to be reset for the millionth time.”

“I don’t understand!” Dean hears Cas struggling. “I’ve always been loyal!”

The angels scoff. “No Castiel, you really haven’t. Why do you think you can’t remember anything from the past couple years? You were a filthy rebel, you’ve always loved humans too much. You think Dean is the first person we let you play with?”

Castiel’s voice cracks. “It can’t be true! It can’t be!!”

Sariel rolls his eyes and slams a foot to Dean’s throat, pinning him to the floor.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM!!” Castiel screams frantically, and not with anger, but with fear.

“Don’t worry,” the angel drawls, “We won’t kill this one. Michael’s got something better for him. But—” He glares down at Dean, smirking as Dean’s eyes begin to water from the lack of air. “Doesn’t mean we can’t mess with him first.”

Sariel holds Dean’s gaze as the hunter lays calm. Dean doesn’t avert his eyes as he smirks back at the angel. Sariel’s smile falters at Dean’s expression and he’ll never forget the look of absolute surprise as he pulls the angel blade from behind his back and plunges it into his leg.

The angel screams as Dean pushes it into his calf up to the hilt. Sariel immediately falls down as Dean rips it back out again. With a barbaric viciousness Dean rarely uses, he lunges onto him, pinning him by the throat. There is a split second when they’re eyes meet and Dean feels a smile curl onto his lips. “Get fucked,” he spits and then slams the blade down into his chest.

His eyes and mouth erupt with white-blue light, flickering as he screams. The shadow of wings burn onto the floor as Dean squeezes his eyes shut. A moment of silence falls and Sariel lies dead on the floor.

Dean leaps up, eyes going straight to the other angel. He looks shocked, staring down at his dead companion, his arms frozen as he holds a blade against Cas’s chest.

His gaze switches to Dean in an instant, his face paling as he sees the anger etched onto the hunter’s face. Dean starts to stalk towards him but before he can land a blow, Cas grabs the angel’s hand holding the blade, twisting it around until it points at the other angel’s chest. The angel gasps in shock just before Castiel forces his blade into his own chest, his grace bursting out as his life force burns away.

The angel’s body falls to the floor and then there is silence.

Dean and Cas stand still, simply staring at the bodies they just created. Then Dean hesitantly looks up, meeting Castiel’s gaze.

Fuck.

Dean braces himself, ready for the angel to come at him, rip into him with every ounce of anger he could muster but the angel just stares.

His face is unreadable, a closed off shell, and reasonably so after what Dean just did. The tear stains are still there, his eyes red but now they’re emotionless.

“We need to go,” Castiel says suddenly, making Dean jump.

“What?” Dean’s mouth struggles to make words.

“More of them will come. You think they’re the only angels here? We need to go.”

Dean doesn’t get the chance to ask questions as Cas quickly shoves his shirt and jeans at him and begins rebuckling his pants. Dean’s brain buzzes with confusion so he just follows along, throwing his shirt back over his head and rapidly pulling on his pants and underwear. As soon as he’s done, Cas grabs his arm and rushes them out into the hall.

They head straight for the front door which Cas rips open. Dean’s brain finally starts to catch up with the situation, “Wait, what about Charlie and—”

“We’ll get them later,” Cas insists as the sweet outside air hits Dean’s face for the first time since his capture. He doesn’t get a chance to enjoy it. A hand still on his arm, Castiel pushes them out the door and then they’re running.

Castiel lets go and they’re both sprinting, away from the house and out into the woods. Dean hears nothing but his own breath, his footsteps crunching the leaves under his feet as he rushes past row upon row of trees. It’s only when the fog grows thick enough that he can see nothing but trees in every direction that he stops.

The light glows weakly through the thick white around him. The trees disappear far above, leaving sharp and cold bark staring at him from all sides. His breath is heavy, loud in his ears but he forces himself to slow, breath by breath.

He closes his eyes briefly, tilting his face up to the musty air, letting it settle in his pores and to his bones. It was beautiful. It was freedom.

The crunch of footsteps behind him snaps him from his daze. He spins around. Castiel stands in front of him. Dean’s eyes go wide as he tenses, a deer before a lion.

Cas stands farther away than usual, the large gap between them leaving a cold and empty feeling in Dean’s chest. They do not speak.

Dean swallows, scanning the angel’s face for wrath or cruelty but there is none. Despite that, Dean’s hand tightens around the blade in his hand, knowing Cas has one as well and more than a decent advantage out here in the open. If he wanted, Dean would be dead in seconds.

Cas looks down to the blade in Dean’s hand, noticing the hunter’s defensive stance. He simply seems sad, but that doesn’t ease Dean’s fear. He is so close, so _ close _ to being free. But Cas didn’t want him free, he wants Dean to himself and if he is going to deny Dean’s freedom a second time… Dean would fight till his last breath, he would die knowing he tried his best.

Cas stares at him for a while, not making a move, watching Dean as he stood, ready to die. His expression is one that imprints itself in Dean’s mind. A profound sadness deepens the lines of his face, guilt sagging his shoulders. There is a decision he has to make, one that will change both their lives. Whatever happens now, Castiel will be free to make his own choices. He knows the truth and must live with the memory of it.

Cas’s face hardens. He takes silent steps forward, Dean ready to jump at the first attack. The angel stops a few steps from him, raising his hand up to him but he falters. Dean relaxes slightly as the angel purses his lips and lets his hand fall back to his side.

Castiel takes a shaky breath, letting it out slowly as he scans Dean’s face, his arms, his body, committing him to memory. The angel swallows and then in a voice almost too soft to hear he says, “Go…”

Dean blinks and stays as he is. He frowns, confused.

“Go,” Cas says again with a firmer voice.

Dean doesn’t know what to think, his mind is all a buzz but he says nothing. He backs away slowly, his eyes never leaving the angel’s face.

“I’ll go back and release your friends,” Castiel says, putting his hands quietly in his pockets. “I’ll guard your escape. Go, Dean.”

Despite everything, Dean believes him. He’s surprised by the small drop of regret he feels but it’s quickly overwhelmed by a wave of relief. He is free.

He gives Cas one last look, the angel looking sadder than he’d ever seen him. Then, without hesitation, Dean turns and runs into the woods.

Dean feels his gaze as Cas watches the hunter grow smaller and smaller in the distance. The world becomes lighter as the fog surrounds him. Just before he can fade from view, Dean pauses. He looks over his shoulder to see Castiel standing, a small spot in the haze. They both watch, holding on to the imprint of each other’s form in the mist. Dean swallows, a last traitorous pull of his heart heavying his feet. Though he can’t make out Castiel’s face, he knows the angel can see him. He nods. _ Thank you. _

Cas does not respond but he lingers just a while longer. A moment more then he turns away, disappearing with one last swish of his coat. Black fades into white, a lone speck swallowed in a vast world of grey. And just like that, he is gone. Now, Castiel is truly alone.

And now Dean is truly free.

_________________

Dean runs, faster than he’s ever run before, his legs pumping, his heart racing but for the first time in a while, he loves it. He loves the adrenaline in his veins carrying him farther and farther away from his prison and closer to his home.

_ Cas I’m here! _ He prays loudly, _ I’m free! I’m finally free! _

He keeps running, he doesn’t care if he doesn’t know where, as long as it’s somewhere other than there. The trees cheer him on, a crowd of dark blurs reminding him of his long awaited freedom.

Dean admires the air blowing through his hair, dragging along his arms and hands. It feels like he’s back in the impala, windows down as the scenery passes by endlessly. His spirit roars like her engine, reffing his legs to go faster.

After several minutes he finally slows, his heart thudding in his ears. But it’s good, it reminds him that he’s alive, that he’s here. He finds himself kneeling to the ground, touching the leaves under his hands. They crumble between his fingers, their crunching sweet music to his ears. Dean smiles, a real smile and it feels amazing. He takes in the damp scent and sighs, rocking back onto his heels and raising his face to the sky.

_ I’m going home. _The thought fills him with joy.

As if on cue, the snapping of a twig reaches Dean’s ears. He whips his head towards the sound. In the distance, he sees movement in the fog. Dean stays still, eyes wide as he watches the figures. He sits and listens.

Dean only waits a moment before he hears the murmurs of voices and he swears his heart stops as he recognizes one voice in particular, commanding the men coming into view. He doesn’t wait any longer. Dean shoots up, sprinting towards the group as they become clearer.

“Sam!” He yells as pure joy carries him, his feet barely touching the ground as he flies towards them.

The figures freeze and stare in his direction. Dean can see their surprised faces now. They gape at him as he waves his arms at them.

“Over here!” Dean comes to a dead stop in front of them, his chest heaving.

The hunters finally snap out of their surprise. One of them yells something behind them and immediately a tall figure starts pushing his way through to the front.

“Let me through!” The tall man says as he pushes the others out of the way. He breaks through and stops when he sees Dean.

His brown hair has grown longer than last Dean’s seen him and a scruffy beard covers his face. To put it politely, he looks like shit, but Dean couldn’t care less.

Silence momentarily reigns, brother staring at brother. Dean feels his smile crinkle the corner of his eyes as he desperately fights the water forming in them. It’s been too long since he’s seen his brother's face. Seeing him reminds him that at last, he is home.

“Hey Sammy,” he chokes out.

Unlike Dean, Sam doesn’t restrain his tears, his eyes immediately filling up. He sniffles for a bit then rushes forward, crashing into Dean and pulling him into the tightest hug Dean’s ever had.

Dean coughs from the force but it soon fades as his brother continues to hold him. His long moose arms wrap around him and hold him in place, his hair tickling Dean’s nose. But Dean doesn’t complain or pull away. He stays there, letting both of them soak in the comfort.

“Hey,” Dean chuckles, trying to comfort his brother, “What’s with the hobo beard?”

“You bitch, I thought you were dead,” Sam sniffles, “I thought I’d never see again.”

Dean laughs softly as a tear falls from his eye. “Well, looks like you’re still gonna be stuck with me for a while.”

Sam laughs, so sad yet so glad. He holds Dean a moment longer then clears his throat, patting Dean on the shoulder as he pulls away. Sam wipes at his nose and lets his hand fall.

“It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Dean smiles. He looks back at all the hunters staring at their reunion with relief on their faces. “How’d you know to find me here?” Dean asks.

Sam’s smile fades slightly, a haunted look passing over him. “We tried to figure out where they took you but we couldn’t track you. The angels left no trace of you or anything. We tried for weeks.” Sam’s mouth twisted to a sad frown. “But then Cas says… says you started praying and… he could feel you, vaguely sense where you were. So we dug out some maps and started sending out groups to the general areas he thought you could’ve been… Some of them didn’t come back so… we thought it’d be better if Cas came with us to help.” Dean’s heart flutters. Cas is here. His eyes immediately scan the faces of the hunters in front of them.

“Where is he?” Dean asks almost in a whisper. He looks to Sam, his brother wearing a knowing expression.

“He’s in the car,” Sam responds with a softness Dean didn’t often hear. His brother points behind the crowd to a small vehicle hidden behind them. As Dean’s gaze falls onto it, he sees a door open and the breath suddenly leaves his lungs.

A tan coat comes into view as the angel steps down onto the forest floor. His feet land gracefully onto the leaves below, barely making a sound. His hair is just as disheveled, just as messy as Dean remembers it. Maybe Dean imagines the glow around the angel but he finds himself enamored, the dark forest falling away as Cas shuts the door and turns.

Blue eyes widen, captured by a green gaze. They freeze, time stopping just for them as they hold their breath, captured by each other’s eyes, held in place by their souls. Dean feels his heart bloom, revived from its dying husk and growing into something beautiful. He soaks in the angel’s presence, letting it quench the yearning of his heart but still, he needs more.

They stand and stare. And it’s like how it always is. Dean can see the look in Cas’s eyes, their warmth like the sun bursting from their depths. There’s no secret to keep now, no hesitation as he lays bare under his gaze. He doesn’t hide, there in the vast pool of Cas’s being is understanding. Cas knows. Dean didn’t need to utter a word, he just knows, like he always does.

Dean feels his lip start to quiver, his utter joy and grief breaking him slowly. He opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. What could he say? No words could do justice to this feeling inside of him. Well, Cas knows… so there’s only one question he needs answered now isn’t there?

He takes a couple steps forward, trying to keep a calm pace. It only lasts for a few seconds. Dean abandons the last of his doubts, lets them fall and smash to the ground. He runs to Cas, not caring who saw, not caring who judged.

Cas takes a step forward before Dean jumps to him, letting his arms wrap tightly around the angel’s chest, pressing his face into his shoulder, tears leaking from his eyes. Castiel hugs him, his arms slowly rubbing up and down Dean’s back, a soft, comforting gesture.

This is how it should be, this is where he belongs. This is  _ his  _ Castiel.

It’s not until Dean hears people start to move around him that he realizes he’s held Cas probably far too long, but the angel doesn’t protest. In fact, he rests his head against Dean’s, letting them stay that way for a while longer.

“Shhhh.” Dean weeps harder as he hears Cas’s voice in his ears. “Shhh, it’s alright Dean.”

He’s so different from the other Castiel, it isn’t until now that Dean realizes just how opposite they are. Every word, every touch he feels at this moment is warm and soft and loving. There are no harsh edges, only gentle caresses like a rose against his cheek. His Cas is perfect, his Cas is whole.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean finds himself sobbing, “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I’m sorry you had to feel—”

“Stop.” Cas pushes him away to look him in the eyes, “You have nothing to apologize for, Dean…” A deep sadness fills his eyes. “What happened is not your fault. What  _ he  _ did to you is not your fault.”

“But I felt—” Dean doesn’t know how to say it, “I felt something for him but I know he’s not you. He’ll never be you.”

Cas stops him with a hand to his cheek. “Dean,” he says again, quieter. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“So you’re okay? You’re not angry with me?”

“Angry?” Cas laughs sadly, “I don’t think I’ve ever been more happy, Dean.”

Dean lets out a sigh of relief, sagging against Cas’s chest, the last of his tears burying themselves in his coat. Cas doesn’t seem to mind, rocking them back and forth until Dean’s breathing slows and at last, he is calm.

“So…” Dean mutters tiredly in Cas’s arms, “Are we… Do you want this too?”

Dean feels the angel stop breathing for a moment and for a split second he fears that he’s assumed wrong. But Cas pushes back just enough to look into Dean’s eyes, a look of wonder and hopeful breathlessness overtaking him. Castiel’s face is bright, his eyes sparkling with a joy unmatched to even the stars. Dean has never seen the angel so happy and his heart warms to know that he made it so. 

“Yes,” Cas’s words fill the last of the void eating at Dean’s being, washing away the pain and the guilt. “Dean,” the angel’s voice cracks and Dean can’t help but smile wider, “I’ve wanted this for a very long time.”

“I know,” Dean laughs wetly, “Thank you… Thank you.” He presses his forehead against the angel’s. Cas takes a sharp breath, tensing under Dean’s hands but slowly he relaxes, a calm hum settling over them.

_ So different than him, so much more perfect than him. He’ll never hurt me, he’ll never do what he did. _

“So…” Cas says hesitantly, “This is us?” Dean opens his eyes and sees the doubt masking the angel’s face. 

Dean smiles, even after all he’d heard and felt from Dean he was still unsure.

Dean nods with a chuckle, “Yeah Cas…” His smile wavers as emotions threaten to wash over him again. “This is us.”

They sit there, breathing each other in, Dean letting his heart bask in the warmth, his soul finding comfort.

Dean stays pressed against Cas. Nothing else seems to matter right now. He vaguely hears Cas muttering to someone and then being led along, back to the car. It’s all a buzz as Cas hops into the back and pulls Dean up with him. Inside, without the view of the trees, without the reminder of this other world and Cas at his side, Dean finally feels safe.

He sees someone get into the driver's seat and then Sam in the passenger's seat, looking over his shoulder to look at him with a smile.

The wave of tiredness he’s been pushing off washes over Dean. All the hours and days of torment sinking into his bones and dragging his mind down. Or it could be Cas, letting him lay on his lap, running a hand through his hair as Dean presses himself as close as he can, sinking into him and letting his presence make him whole again.

It was a reminder of what is real. Dean knows his memories of the past month won’t just disappear, knows they’ll have to be dealt with and would cause him problems probably for the rest of his life, but Cas will be there to get him through it.

Dean has more scars now, permanent and ugly. But Cas won’t care, they all have their scars and their burdens. These scars were just ones Dean never expected to receive, ones that marred his heart and weighed him down. Perhaps they would grow lighter with time.

As the rumble of the car starts to lull him to sleep, Dean’s thoughts keep him awake. He thinks about a black figure, standing permanently in the corner of his mind. Dean’s thoughts wander to him, a small sadness pulling at his heart as he thinks back to his moment of freedom. The angel staring at him with such deep sorrow.

Despite all his cruelty, despite his desire, Castiel had let Dean go. The thought haunts him. After all Dean had said and done, did Castiel finally learn to listen… did he finally learn to love?

Hopefully, he’ll never know. But there is a small facet of his heart, a tiny shard of blackness screaming at him that it’s so. He can feel a phantom pain, the loneliness, the grief.

“Dean.” Cas suddenly shakes him from his thoughts. Dean hums and looks up at him. “They found Ketch and Charlie,” he says. Dean sighs in relief, glad that all of them were safe now. Cas speaks his next words quieter. “Sam says that a rogue angel helped them...”

“It’s him,” Dean breathes.

Cas nods. “There are other angels following us, but he fought them off.”

Dean dares stare out the tinted window across from him, staring back out into the treetops. The other Cas is out there somewhere, keeping to his promise.

“He learned…” he says to the air. Castiel rests his hand on his shoulder, comforting him.

Dean swallows, it seems unfair of him to leave like this. “Hey Cas,” he says quietly, “Do you mind if I… pray to him?”

Cas pauses for a moment then shakes his head. “No… say what you need to.”

Dean takes a deep breath, readying himself for his goodbye.

_ Hey Cas…  _ he sighs as his mind provides the words he knows both of them can hear.  _ I know you can hear me. I think it’s only fair that I thank you for keeping your promise. _ He imagines the other Castiel, listening intently to his words, hope beating in his chest.  _ Since we’ll never see each other again I thought I’d give you a send-off… You’re free now. It’s not gonna be easy, in fact, it’s gonna be hell. But I hope you can find a better path, find out who you are and become your own person.  _ Dean finds himself closing his eyes, holding back another wave of tears.  _ I’ll always remember you, no matter how hard I try not to. After all you’ve done, how could I?  _ Dean feels his Cas squeeze his arm.  _ I… I love you, and I hate you. But I’ll never forget you. Perhaps you’ll find comfort in that. I know you have the potential for good, you always have. So… maybe you can help fix this world. But that’s your choice. _

_ You’re free Cas. It’s your life. Use it well.  _ Dean pauses, swallowing hard,  _ Goodbye, Cas.  _ The rumble of the car is all that fills the silence that follows.

The farther they go, the more weightless Dean feels. As they travel farther and farther away, Dean feels his pain lessen, his chains falling. He needn’t worry about the other angel, now that he had his own, the only one he needs.

Castiel’s fingers continue to run through his hair and after a while, Dean hears Cas start to hum. It starts quiet, only audible to his ears. As the soft notes blend together, the song turning into one he knows so well, he sighs contently, squeezing Cas’s hand in thanks. The lyrics come easily, his mind drinking them in, engrained deep in his bones.

_ Hey Jude, don't make it bad _

_ Take a sad song and make it better _

_ Remember to let her into your heart _

_ Then you can start to make it better _

He breathes steadily, letting his pain fade, sleep slowly taking him. When he wakes up, maybe it’ll all seem like a bad dream.

_ Hey Jude, don't be afraid _

_ You were made to go out and get her _

_ The minute you let her under your skin _

_ Then you begin to make it better _

Dean falls asleep to Cas’s song, the angel watching over his sleeping form. The car continues to rumble as they make their way back. Soon they’d all be home, soon they’d be as they always should’ve been. Together.

_________________

The hunters pass through the forest, through the fog back towards their home. Castiel watches, black coat billowing as he observes them from above the trees. They quickly grow smaller and smaller and the angel is half-tempted to follow them further. But he’s already fended off the other angels. There is no need to follow their trail any longer.

Still, he takes a few more steps along the rocky ridge, futility following behind. It takes a minute for him to check himself, halting his footsteps. His hands begin to twitch.

“Don’t follow him,” he growls to himself. “He’s not yours anymore.” The dark craving inside him urges him forward, but Dean’s words keep him in place.

“Let him go.” He paces along the rock, his instincts conflicting. “Let him  _ go.” _

If he truly loved him… those were Dean’s words. They still stung, another blade pressed against his throat, keeping him silent. All he’d wanted was to love him and be loved by him. It had felt magnificent, beautiful. It is an addiction he’ll never shake.

“But I need him,” he keeps muttering to himself, “I  _ need  _ him.”

Dean made him feel less empty, less like the hollow shell of the angel he is. There is so much he didn’t know now, so much he didn’t remember. It was stolen from him! How would he live with so many empty holes inside him? He’d tried to put himself back together, replacing the missing pieces. But now one of his pieces was being taken away, the careful threads he had woven torn apart as it was ripped out of his chest.

Perhaps he was too selfish. Perhaps he didn’t know what the right thing to do was. He’d had no anchor showing him the limits of his actions. But now he does, all of Dean’s memories, all that Dean had done.

Before, he hadn’t thought much of the lessons he could learn from the man, only seeing his own face implanted among the memories and the pure adoration Dean showed towards him. He craved it, longed endlessly for the sweet feeling of pure bliss and devotion, something other than loneliness. It hadn’t been him, but Castiel thought he could make it so.

The angel keeps his feet planted firmly on the stone, resisting his urge. But as the hunters disappear behind the trees, the ache of nothingness hits him with full force. His face falls, the pain of it crippling him more than he thought it would.

He is empty, so utterly empty. Was he even alive? Was it worth living like this?

As his thoughts begin to spiral, despair eating at him, Cas hears the words, such beautiful, sweet words as Dean’s voice echoes in his head. The beginning of Dean’s prayer fills him with a moment of joy. The emptiness in his chest momentarily subsides, Cas grasping on, listening to Dean with rapt attention. As Dean’s voice fills his mind, the words sinking in he finds himself holding onto them desperately, knowing he’d never hear the hunter’s voice again, knowing this is the last he’ll ever know of Dean Winchester.

As the words slow, the prayer coming to a close, Castiel feels the pieces in him falling apart further, shattering like glass. He has so little to hold on to, so little keeping him together.

Cas finds his eyes blurring, his heart hurting with every word closer to the end.

And then, it comes.

_ Goodbye Cas. _

The words pierce him like a knife, plunged into his heart and twisted, choking him as he struggles for breath. He strains his grace, waiting to hear more but he knows it is futile. They would not come, never again.

A tear falls down his cheek, unchecked in his shock and pain. He has no memories, he has no home, he has no family, and now he has no Dean. “I’m sorry,” he finds himself muttering, more tears filling his eyes, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He shakes, his loneliness finally realized. “I’ll do it, Dean, I promise I’ll do as you asked. It’s all I have.”

His tears continue as he kneels on the ground, letting his hands fall into his lap, uncaring for the wind that blows through his hair and the dying trees. Castiel looks across the land, it’s grey mountains and ash-filled sky. It’s nothing like Dean’s world, full of light and color and life. He’ll never have that, he knows, his world is long dead. He’ll never have anything so beautiful.

_ You can help fix this world. _

Dean’s last words echo in his mind. It was Dean’s last wish, his last request that he try and start over, build something for himself. It would take a long time, millennia perhaps but it could be done. Perhaps he could help heal this world, rebuild it.

“If Michael is gone,” he says to himself, “then this world can start again.” This is all Michael’s doing—humanity’s downfall, earth’s demise, his own torment.

“Michael.” He says the name like its dirt on his tongue, anger settling comfortably around him. “I’ll make you pay. I’ll make you suffer just as I have. And when I’ve ground you into dust, I’ll destroy all you’ve worked so hard to create. Humanity will rise again and I’ll be here to watch it happen.”

Castiel wipes away his tears and stands, a new purpose finally found. It’s what Dean would want, it’s what Cas wants. He turns away from the trees, across the rocks, his sadness fading, vengeance taking its place.

He walks with confidence, his steps echoing off the stone. The path behind him is dark but not as dark as the angel himself. That old shadow is behind him now. Ahead the sun is dim, the world crumbling to dust but soon from the darkness of an angel’s wings, light will come.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end, my dear readers! I'd love to hear what you think about the story and my take on AU!Cas. But most importantly, thank you so much for being here :D I hope you enjoyed it, I certainly enjoyed writing it <3 Now I hope you enjoy the rest of your day ;) Until next time *waves*


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